


Instinct

by Delia_Maguire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Teen Wolf (TV) Fusion, Animal Instincts, Beacon Hills, Crossover, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Eventual Relationships, Fantasizing, Flashbacks, Glader Slang, Jealous Minho, Jealousy, M/M, Mild Language, Mountain Ash, Nogitsune, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Older Characters, Pack Building, Pack Family, Pining, Play Fighting, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Protective Derek, Protective Minho, Protectiveness, Relationship(s), Scent Marking, Scenting, Stilinski Twins, Werewolf Derek, Wolf Instincts, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-03-25 22:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 63,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delia_Maguire/pseuds/Delia_Maguire
Summary: The Trials are over. They're safe.At least, that's what Minho had hoped - But when he and Thomas come to live with Thomas's long lost twin brother, Stiles Stilinski, in Beacon Hills, he quickly realizes that's wishful thinking.





	1. Cat Sweater Savior

The Trials were over.

It sounded like another lie, yet everything that had transpired since Chancellor Page spoke those fateful four words indicated there was truth behind the statement. The subjects that had survived were cleaned up, briefed on the importance of what they'd endured, and offered free transport to wherever their few remaining family members might reside.

Which is how Minho found himself on a train to some small, unimportant town dubbed Beacon Hills with Thomas tucked up against his side. The boy had dozed off against the Asian teen’s shoulder and now jostled slightly with each bump and shake of the train cart, leaving Minho to try to brace himself against the movement to minimise the chance of one such disturbance rousing his friend.

How Thomas could sleep, Minho had no idea. Unrelenting unease clawed at the Keeper’s insides and kept his dark orbs stapled wide in wakefulness. Sleep was as far off of a possibility as him suddenly becoming a unicorn and flying away on a shucking rainbow.

Well, Minho wished that ridiculous image seemed impossible anyway, but considering that  razor sharp fangs had sprouted from his jaws and his eyes had flashed an unnatural shade of luminescent blue whenever someone threatened the snoozing boy leaned against him or had sparked his anger some other way, he honestly wouldn't be surprised at anything anymore.

The scientists at Wicked had tried numerous times to explain to Minho how he was a werewolf - which, newsflash, apparently existed - and how they needed to understand how his immunity to the Flare virus compared to that of a human’s but the Asian boy still never really understood. All he knew was that sometimes his nails would decide to sharpen into knife like claws and he felt the constant, unignorable urge to bury his nose in Thomas’s neck and sniff him for shucks sake.

It wasn't his fault the smaller boy’s scent was intoxicatingly addictive. How could he be blamed for wanting to shove his face against Thomas’s skin and inhale him when the kid smelled like sex on a shuck stick? All warm, and sweet, and delicious with the slightest hint of a lemon tang… If sunshine had a scent, it would definitely be Thomas. So, if Minho leaned over and snuggled his nose into his friend’s hair occasionally, breathing in that amazing smell in long, deep inhales, then he really wasn’t to blame.

The train abruptly came to a screeching, tire squealing, halt during once such instance, leaving Minho to scramble back from the younger teen rather quickly or risk getting caught in the act of his guilty pleasure. However, suddenly removing the other boy’s living pillow resulted in him falling sideways for a few dazed seconds before snorting hastily into wakefulness.

“Are we there already?” Thomas questioned lazily, blinking hazel eyes slowly at Minho as if nothing was out of the ordinary and leaving the Asian damn glad his friend wasn't supernatural, because he was pretty sure every werewolf in a hundred mile radius of their little train cart could hear his heart pounding at the moment.

“Don't think so. It's seems a little early if you ask me.” Minho replied carefully, refraining from allowing the sneaking fear he truly felt closing in on him from coming through in his voice. _Another trial._ His mind declared immediately but he bit his lip and remained silent, unwilling to voice the nagging fear. There was no reason to push his paranoid concern onto his friend - Though, the wide eyed, apprehensive look playing across Thomas’s face implied the kid had already come to the same, horrific conclusion.

The acidic scent of Thomas’s fear tainted his usually welcoming smell as the haze of sleep lifted from the younger teen and he rose to his feet to cast his gaze suspiciously about their surroundings. It made Minho’s wolf want to growl and hunt down whatever had caused the change in his mate - friend, he corrected - _friend’s_ scent.

 _Protect._ Something primitive in Minho’s mind demanded forcefully as he unconsciously edged closer to his companion, hovering around his friend in case he suddenly needed to yank the boy away from danger. It was taking every ounce of self control to keep his eyes from flashing as the last groan of the train stilling could be heard echoing through the empty passenger carts.

Somehow, Minho managed to keep his pointed pair of canines a secret throughout the entirety of the trials and he wasn't about to reveal them now in a brief moment of panic. What if his best friend was freaked out by his abnormality - Minho sure was when he first caught a glimpse of fanged, furred, and fierce in a mirror. Or worse, what if Thomas was scared of him?

Minho’s musings were cut off by the sound of something slamming into their cart, sending the whole thing leaning precariously to the side with a dangerous groan before it slammed back onto the tracks.

Glancing anxiously out the window to try and get a look at whatever had hit them, the werewolf caught a momentary glimpse of what looked like a smokey wisp of darkness ghost by the glass before they were hit again, harder this time. He also saw they were on a narrow bridge overlooking an impossibly deep gorge with a rushing river winding through the bottom of it, barely visible from this high up. Shuck.

A scent, almost familiar, but not quite, flooded Minho’s nostrils as a startled yelp sprang to his lips and the black wispy mystery threw itself against the train once more, pushing them dangerously close to the tipping point. The Asian didn't have time to consider the oddity however, as he was thrown by the impact, feet skidding uselessly against the slick floor of the cart as his body fell against the far wall. Unsurprisingly, moments later, every ounce of air was slammed from the wolf’s lungs as Thomas fell into him, flailing limbs almost clipping Minho in the face as the boy collapsed into him with a startled grunt.

“Get back!” A scratchy but fierce voice demanded angrily as the door connecting the boys’ compartment to the other train carts was suddenly thrown open. A short, elderly woman with curly, graying hair pinned back in a loose bun sprang into sight, her light up cat sweater blinking sporadically as she came to an unsteady halt in front of the pair.

For a moment, irritation flared up in Minho as he thought the newcomer was yelling at them but, just as he was about to tell Grandma Crazy off, the woman thrust open a window on the far side of the cart and leaned out.

“What are you doing?” Thomas yelped incredulously from Minho’s side before stumbling forward to pull the insane chick back in, honey eyes wide with confusion and concern as he rushed across the room.

“Don't you fret now, hun. Betsie knows what she's doing. This isn't my first trip to Beacon Hills!” Grandma Deathwish declared fiercely as she pulled an old looking burlap sack from her tiny pink purse, the weathered cloth of the thing fraying slightly at the edges and spilling a fine black dust from a few sparse holes throughout.

The way the woman, Betsie, apparently, growled out the town’s name as if it were a disease she wanted to stomp out put Minho on edge. He really just wanted him and Thomas to be safe and, with all that had just transpired within the last two minutes, he was really starting to doubt Beacon Hills was going to offer the serenity he so craved for him and his mate - Friend. For shucks sake, his _friend._ Why couldn't his stupid wolf get that through its head?

“Come get some, ya sneaky varmint!” Betsie howled before bursting into a maniacal cackle as the gray smoke Minho had finally convinced himself he’d been imagining wooshed toward the open window. However, as the werewolf finally got a good look at the creature, he found that it was not just a misty apparition, but rather had a tangible form that the gray cloud of dark matter he’d seen earlier merely trailed. The creature was still moving too fast for the boy to really see any of its features but he was able to assess that the thing definitely had a human shape before Betsie grasped a handful of the black dust from her bag and threw it at the beast.

“Oh, don’t worry, Tom, we’ve been saved!” Minho balked incredulously. “She’s thrown dust on it! Now we won't have to worry about it being too clean when it dismembers us!” The teen cried fearfully, throwing his hands up in exasperation as Senile Sue turned to glare pointedly at him, even having the audacity to shake a scolding finger at him with a disapproving scowl written across her wrinkled face.

“Dust! Why, I oughta let it turn you to dust!” Betsie snarled indignantly. “This here is mountain ash, boyo!” Their cat sweater wearing savior hissed, as if that were supposed to comfort Minho in the least.

“Look!” Thomas quipped anxiously before Minho had a chance to bite back a smart response and the Asian turned to see his friend pointing at the window with a single shaking finger, his hazel eyes as curious as they were horrified. The Keeper shifted his gaze to where his friend indicated and his eyes fell on the unknown creature that was now reeling back and squirming uncomfortably as it staggered away from the train.

A high pitched cry rang through the air, the sound reminiscent of someone drawing nails down a chalkboard only amplified ten times over. The monster writhed as Betsie threw another handful of her magic dust in its direction before it hissed angrily and vanished into thin air as if it had never been there.

“What…” Thomas mumbled blankly from Minho’s side, fear and defeat evident in his tone . “What was that?” The boy finally managed, sounding more disappointed than anything else and Minho knew why. They were never going to be safe.   

“Damn foxes.” Betsie merely muttered in reply, obviously not really talking to Thomas as she shoved her burlap sack back into her hot pink bag and began shuffling back toward the way she had came.

“Hey!” Minho snapped irritably as the old woman continued to ignore them and began making her way through the door she had entered minutes ago as the train hummed back to life and began groaning into motion once more. “I’ve seen foxes, and that, my friend, was no shucking fox! Unless you’ve got some weird fox steroids circulating your streets!” The teen growled demandingly but Betsie merely turned on a heel to glare fiercely at him, looking far more threatening than a woman her age should.

“Respect your elders, young man!” The odd lady commanded with a huff before beginning to turn around once more.

“Wait!” Thomas tried this time, his voice far more carefully controlled than Minho’s. “We just…” The boy began but trailed off. “We’ve never seen anything like that before and... and mountain ash? We just want to know what the hell happened.” The brunette implored, carefully adding a note of pleading to his voice in an attempt to appeal to the stubborn woman - It kinda made Minho want to slam him into a wall and drag his teeth along the pale, sensitive skin of the boy’s neck until he elicited that pleading tone from the teen. Shucking weird ass wolf.

“Sonny,” Betsie began, her voice and expression softening as she turned her gaze to Thomas. “Ain’t nothing I can tell you that’s gonna make this any easier.” She informed the boy sympathetically and Thomas frowned, the tangy scent of his anxiety flooding Minho’s nostrils and making him have to refrain from growling.

“But, I’ll write down the address of where I’ll be staying, okay? If you need help, you can always come ask me.“ Betsie offered quickly and Minho almost wondered if she could smell the tormenting aroma of Thomas’s unease as well, but he quickly pushed the ridiculous thought away as quickly as it had came.

“That would be great, thanks!” Thomas replied gratefully and Minho could immediately sense his friend's relief, the calming feel of it relaxing the wolf slightly as Betsie scrawled something on a bright pink post-it note. The woman must really love her pink. 

“I have a feeling you’re gonna need it.” The old woman spoke with a knowing smile as she handed the slip of fluorescent paper to Thomas but her eyes were locked past him, on Minho. _How could she know? You’re being paranoid._ The Asian told himself stubbornly but then he saw Betsie’s humor filled old eyes flick to his seat before she turned and left them and when he glanced down to see what had caught her attention he found he’d left long, jagged claw marks in the velvet cloth.


	2. Seeing Double

They were supposed to be meeting Thomas’s brother at the corner of a small park on the edge of town. By the time the one way train to hell finally came to a proper stop at the station and the boys made their way to the meeting place, they were practically over the near death experience with the “fox,” it wasn't like almost dying was anything new to them.

 That didn't change the fact that they were at least 40 minutes late by the time they finally came to stand at the selected intersection, a crowded area of grassy field in which a small ice cream stand sat. Apparently, whichever branch of Wicked had set this up decided that meeting in a neutral, public area would be more comfortable for all parties involved.

 Minho thought they must be shucking stupid or perhaps clinically insane. The pressing crowd of people he didn't know made him anything but comfortable and the new, potent scents bombarding his senses, colliding and mixing to form a stomach twisting chaotic mess, kinda made him want to puke.

 Thomas didn't look much better, sticking close enough to Minho that their elbows bumped occasionally as his honey eyes wandered over the scene.

 There were screaming children being trailed by exhausted parents that called out half hearted scoldings to no avail. Young people stealing shy glances at one another before bursting into small, private giggles. Elderly couples looking on in faux disapproval at their youthful counterparts when Minho could clearly smell their humor and nostalgic affection from a mile off.

 All in all, the park was a mess; but at the same time, it was a controlled chaos, and was somehow soothing in the normalcy of imperfection. After living his entire life under constant supervision of Wicked scientists, with their pristine, white lab coats and structured, flawless trials, Minho took comfort in the wildness of reality, even if it was an insy bit unsettling at first glance.

 As the Asian boy took in the scene however, he saw no sign of the person they’d come all this way to meet. Supposedly, the boy they were looking for was identical to Thomas in every way, save upbringing; and considering the fact that Minho prided himself on his Thomas-finding abilities, he was starting to doubt this kid was here if his searching gaze hadn't found him yet. Besides, Minho wasn't about to believe anyone could possibly look quite as cute as Thomas, twin or not.

 “There's no possible way he’s later than us!” Thomas scoffed incredulously from Minho’s side, his voice sounding casual despite the fact that the wolf could sense his nervousness as clear as day. Thomas's heart always did this weird, skip-beat thing when he was worried and Minho had long since memorized the pattern that indicated the teen was uneasy.

 “Quit fretting, Tommy.” Minho scolded lightly, waving his hand through the air as if to shoo away the younger male’s concerns as he spoke. “I'm gonna grab us some ice cream. I know your dumbass hasn't eaten anything all morning.” The werewolf suggested, ignoring the near irresistible urge to run into the forest, slaughter the first edible thing he saw, and drag it, still bleeding, back for his mate - FRIEND.

  “What would I do without you?” Thomas huffed sharply, sarcasm practically dripping from his lips, but Minho merely grinned at the kid’s irritability.

 "Probably starve!” Minho quipped jovially, swatting his friend lightly in the back of the head with an open palm as he made his way toward the tiny, rickety ice cream stand, ignoring the light shove Thomas threw his way.

 It was a rather hot day, the sun beating down on the park relentlessly with the unforgiving heat of midsummer, so the line for the cold treats was quite lengthy. Nevertheless, Minho diligently took his place at the end of the hoard of people and shoved his hands in his pockets, resigning himself to a long wait as the people ahead of him moved incredibly slow.

 Minho kept the sound of Thomas’s heartbeat in the back of his head every moment he was separated from the boy. The wolf had spent many a miserable night in the Scorch, trying desperately to drain the boy’s pain and listening intently to that familiar rhythm when Thomas was shot, as if focusing on it would urge it to continue, so memorizing the distinct cadence of the boy’s heart had really only been natural. It gave Minho a way to know his mate - Please, wolf, can't you be heterosexual for two minutes? - _friend_ was safe even when he couldn't see or smell him.

 Even as Minho finally came to be second in line and let his eyes wander over the swinging chalkboard menu hanging precariously above the cash register, he kept the sound in the back of his head.

 “Can I get uhh….” An elderly man directly before Minho in line began but then trailed off and fell into silence for what had to be at least fifteen shucking minutes. Minho groaned internally and unintentionally externally as he tried to focus on selecting his own food rather than the irritating sloth like nature of the man standing between him and ordering. Minho would like to get back to Thomas sometime in the next century, please.

 “Uhh…” The old man continued, before straightening up slightly and putting a thoughtful finger against his chin. The guy began humming softly to himself in thought and Minho thought he would very much like to die rather than sit here and endure this insanity for a moment longer.

 However, just as the wolf thought he might snap and quite literally bite the guy's head off, the man finally ordered a cup of water. After all that, a cup of water. Who even comes to an ice cream stand to order a cup of water? Jesus shuck him.

 “What size?” A dumb looking boy who couldn't have been older than thirteen working the cash register questioned and Minho would have loved to just punch him in his pimple smothered face as Old Fart picked up another rousing chorus of everyone’s favorite song: “Uhhh...”

 Finally, years later, Dust Bag made his way along and Minho stepped up to take his place at the front of the line, every ounce of patience drained from him and every nerve on end, leaving him taunt and ready to snap.

 “What can I get you, sir?” Pepperoni Face asked in a high, whiney voice that let Minho, and everyone else with ears, know the kid was definitely going through puberty.

 “I just want two hot fudge sundaes.” Minho sighed, forcing himself to breathe in a huge, calm inhale of sweet air before he spoke.

 “My apologies, sir,” King of the Pimples droned in a monotone and he obviously pulled out his phone and began texting someone as if he couldn't be bothered in the least by the growing scowl Minho felt his features twisting into.

 “Our ice cream machine is broke.” Puberty’s latest victim informed casually, eyes still on his device rather than his fuming customer.

 “You're an ice cream joint.” Minho stated blankly, using every ounce of willpower in his body to keep a snarl from his voice.

 “Yep.” The kid replied simply, the sound of Candy Crush beginning to play noisily from the sleek phone still holding all the cashiers attention.

 “And your ice cream machine is…” Minho began slowly but trailed off, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Broken?” The Asian finally inquired incredulously, letting his disbelief and anger be evident in his heated tone.

 “Yep.” The Walking Acne replied distractedly as the sound of a lost game met Minho’s ears and the cashier cursed irritably before finally shutting off his phone and turning to gaze boredly at his customer.

 “What the shuck do you serve then?” Minho spat angrily, earning naught but a raised eyebrow and snide snicker from the source of his irritation. The Asian boy really wished he'd walked away minutes ago, but Thomas was hungry and he wasn't about to leave his mate - Jesus shuck - his _friend_ unfed.

 “Calm down, man,” The idiot scoffed and held his hands up in a mock, pacifying gesture. “I can make you a slushy.” The kid offered with a dramatic roll of his pale green eyes, as if making Minho anything was a favor that the Asian should be eternally grateful for. Minho wanted to eternally punch this guy in the mouth.

 “Fine. I want two slushies then.” Minho huffed exasperatedly, too exhausted to fight such stupidity any longer.

 “What flavor?” The Living Pimple questioned blankly, pulling his phone back up to his face with a tired look.

 “Strawberry and lemon.” Minho replied carefully, silently praising himself for not growling at the kid.

 “Now, did you want strawberry and lemon together or..?” The stupid annoyance inquired, leaning his elbows on the counter and not even bothering to look at the steadily amassing line of overheated park goers.

 “What do you think numbnuts?” Minho huffed, unsure if he really intended for his words to be heard or not. “I want two drinks, so, it should be obvious.” The wolf explained carefully, counting every minute he spent with his mate - God dammit. There really was no point in correcting his idiotic wolf anymore, so why bother? - his _mate_ not in his sight.

 “Well, we do offer a tropical lemon, strawberry twist-” The kid rambled off uninterestedly but shut up as Minho slammed his hands onto the counter.

 “Separate!” The werewolf practically hissed, fingers flexing to refrain from balling into fists. “I want them seperate, okay?” The Keeper growled out in a curt huff before slowly pulling his hands back from the counter.

 “Gotcha, dude… No need to get all huffy.” The cashier protested exasperatedly. “What size?” The kid questioned blankly after a long moment of tense silence. Minho wanted to scream.

 “Medium.” The Runner answered immediately, leaning against the white countertop tiredly after such an experience.

  _Large_ Wolfy demanded forcefully, apparently under the impression that it's self-proclaimed mate would starve if Minho didn't feed him surplus amounts of food immediately.

 “Large.” Minho relented easily, considering this was a relatively small price to pay to alleviate the driving desire to hunt red meat in a public park he still felt.

 “And, is that both of them large?” Sir Stupid asked idiotically as he lay his phone face up on the counter and pushed off to finally begin making the drinks.

 “Yes,” Minho groaned agonizingly. “For the love of all that his good and holy, yes. Both large.” The Asian practically cried but he sobered up as the source of his anger began preparing the treats and something on the abandon phone’s screen caught the Keeper's attention.

 Minho let his gaze drift subtly to the screen while numbnuts was distracted with actually doing his job. “Inexplicable Odd Goings On Plague Beacon Hills - No One is Surprised.” The article left open read, officially signing the death certificate of Minho’s hope for a peaceful life.

 Two identical cups, each filled to the brim with a frothy, pastel liquid were slammed down in front of Minho before he had a chance to mull over the new piece of dismal information and he quickly produced some of the cash Wicked had armed them with before sending them out into the world.

 After living his whole life under a teenage made system where no one had anything worth trying to barter or sell, the entire concept of money made little to no sense to Minho, but he wasn't about to complain - The scientists had given the remaining subjects surplus amounts of the confounding currency, as if they thought it was going to make up for all they had done to them.

 Just as Minho wrapped a hand around each of the drinks, the chilly feel of the cool cup against his warm skin sending chills over him, something caught his eye. It was almost too quick for the wolf to catch sight of, such a momentary glance that he was practically positive that he had simply imagined it - The briefest hint of a black, ominous aura drifting by him saw only out of the corner of his eye, barely edging his gaze.

 Minho would have been sure it was just his overactive, paranoid imagination if the chalkboard menu didn't come crashing down onto the ceramic counter below milliseconds after.

 The board splintered and broke into a hundred different, tiny pieces as Minho leapt back from the accident, his dark eyes darting about the scene. Despite his greatest attempts, the Asian was unable to catch sight of the mystery creature’s dark matter and not knowing where the thing was was somehow so much worse than actually seeing it.

 “Calm down, everyone. It was just an accident, no reason to freak out.” Pimple Boy soothed the crowd of onlookers in that same, bored voice he'd maintained during he and Minho’s whole interaction. The crowd of people didn't honestly seem half as bothered as they should in Minho's opinion as they soon edged back toward the stand after an unnaturally brief moment of hesitation.

 “Can we still get some ice cream?” A tall man with scruffy hair falling into his gray eyes questioned after a moment, leaving Minho to watch on, mouth falling agape in shock as the people merely brushed the splintering board out of the way and continued on as if everything were peachy keen.

 “No. The machine is broke.” Minho barely heard your friendly neighborhood superhero, Pimple Boy, reply as something else caught the Keeper’s attention and ripped his focus away from the unsettling events that had just transpired.

 Thomas's heartbeat changed, sounding blaring alarms in Minho’s head as the familiar rhythm sprang up into the quickened cadence of fear.

 The slushies the Keeper had fought so hard to obtain dropped pathetically from his suddenly lax grip and splattered in ruins on the concrete pathway underfoot as Minho darted toward his mate, pushing disgruntled passerbyers out of the way as if they were no more than blades of grass. Both his wolf and human sides agreed on something for once and he sprinted the distance between Thomas and himself, he had to reach the boy immediately and decimate whatever had caused the sudden change.

 Thomas's familiar scent flooded the wolf’s nostrils moments later but the sweet tones offered no comfort as they were tainted with an acidic bite of fear, which only drove Minho to struggle harder to get to the boy.

 “Stiles, where have you been!” The sound of an unfamiliar voice met Minho’s straining ears as he finally cleared the last few paces of crowd infested parkland and Thomas came into view. However, the sight was not what the werewolf was expecting in the least as a man he’d never seen before in his life held his friend’s wrist captive in his grip, large, strong fingers able to wrap entirely around the limb with ease from what Minho could see.

 “And why do you smell weird?” The guy continued dubiously, apparently oblivious to Thomas’s obvious bewilderment as the smaller teen stared blankly at the man, muttering out a startled “huh?” but apparently unable to do much else.

 The man looked absolutely terrifying to say the least. His dark gray eyes were smoldering with intensity as he stared down Minho’s captured companion and his thick, scowling eyebrows seemed more threatening than Gally’s, if such a thing were possible. Complete with perfectly trimmed stubble and a jawline one could probably slice themselves on, the dude looked like something out of a magazine. Not to mention the fact that his biceps were bigger than Minho’s head for shucks sake.

 But did any of this stop Minho from stalking up to Mr. Muscles with a scowl to rival the devil himself, glowering at the hand that still gripped Thomas’s wrist? Nope.

 “Just who the shuck do you think you are?” Minho spat as he neared the pair, causing both sets of eyes to lock on him, one familiar, honey pair full of relief and the other brimming with distaste.

 “His Alpha.” Sir Creepo growled angrily and as he spoke his gray eyes narrowed and flashed a dark shade of unnerving, luminescent crimson that was anything but natural.

 “Yeah?” Minho snarled defensively, not allowing the display to deter him as he stomped relentlessly closer until he was right up in the guy’s face. “Well, I'm his Keeper.” The wolf growled dangerously, feeling his own eyes flash momentarily against his will, leaving him grateful he’d gotten close enough only Blood Eyes could see as there was no controlling the reaction when some guy randomly decided to show up and lay hand on _his mate._

 The mystery man looked momentarily taken aback by the display, as if something about the blue glow of Minho’s own orbs had unnerved him but he recovered almost instantly. A low growl began in the back of the dude’s throat at the challenge and Minho snarled just as fiercely in response, eyes fixed intently on where the man’s fingers still wrapped around Thomas’s wrist.

 “Hey, Derek, I didn't know if you wanted cherry or…” A new voice suddenly interrupted the stare off as Alpha Asshole immediately snapped his head toward the sound. Intrigued by the sudden, urgent reaction, Minho let his own gaze trail that of his foe’s and nearly choked on his own spit at the sight.

 There, a few paces from them stood Thomas… But, at the same time, not.

 The newcomer had the same hazel eyes, wide and Bambi-ish as Thomas did, coupled with the pale mole speckled skin associated with Minho’s best friend. The kid was the same height, had the same build, and even had the same sunkissed brown hair and pink, full lips as Thomas. His scent even resembled Thomas’s, warm and bright, with an undernote of tang… But at the same time, it was all different.

 Minho smirked to himself victoriously - He was right, twin or not, no one was as cute as his Thomas.

 Bodybuilder Big Head looked incredulously at the kid standing a few feet from them, then back at the boy he still held captive in his grip.

 Minho took the opportunity to begin trying to pry the dude’s steely fingers from his companion’s wrist as Thomas attempted to aid him by squirming about in a way that was actually entirely unhelpful in every way, considering it was distracting Minho far more than it was loosening the alpha’s grip.

 Finally, after a long moment of “Derek,” as the Thomas look alike had dubbed him, looking from one twin to the other, then glancing down at Minho who was trying in vain to loosen the deathgrip keeping Thomas still, the guy released his hold on the brunette.

 “Oh.” The new boy stated softly, his gaze flicking from  Derek, to Minho, to Thomas before a amused snort escaped his lips.

 “Derek, meet my twin brother.”


	3. Curly Fries and Pining Guys

“Where have you been?” Derek demanded anxiously before Minho could process a single moment of the events that had just transpired.

“Huh? To the ice cream stand and back, just like I told you!” Stiles explained in a single breath, looking as confused as Minho himself felt and pointing a finger toward the ice cream shack in case Derek needed reminded of its existence. “But then I didn't know if you wanted cherry or not, because I know you like sour things, ‘cause you're a Sourwolf, but I still wasn't sure, because who ever knows with you? Except me. I know with you, but still!” 

Stiles rambled on without pause and Minho realized he’d already found the biggest difference between the odd boy and his twin. Though, the Asian couldn't help but wonder that, if Wicked hadn't taken Thomas, if he’d have been just as talkative. The thought brought a pang of sadness and a guilt he had no reason to feel. 

Derek probably responded but Minho had long since lost interest in the exchange, his ability to focus impaired by the fact that his wolf kept demanding he run his tongue over Thomas’s wrist until he couldn't smell the other wolf’s disgusting, lingering scent upon the other boy. 

“Well, I guess it's time for meet and greet!” Stiles declared with a clap of his hands, bringing Minho’s attention back to reality, where it was unacceptable to mouth one’s best friend in any way, shape, or form.

“I'm Stiles, as you may have guessed, I've been told my reputation precedes me,” The brunette joked lightly, holding out a hand for Thomas to shake before offering it to Minho.  

“And this hunk of man meat is my boyfriend, Derek Hale.” Stiles concluded excitedly, making an elaborate gesture with both arms that ended in jazz hands toward the brooding guy who'd had the audacity to actually touch and get his nasty scent on Minho’s property. Jesus, his wolf was a possessive shucker, apparently. 

Derek Hale merely grunted in response, making no secret about it as he sized up Thomas and Minho, gazing at them both critically, as if evaluating their worth.

“Don't mind him,” Stiles assured optimistically. “He may seem like a Sourwolf, but he's actually a huge softie.” The teen leaned in and whispered, though his lowered voice did absolutely no good as Derek snorted incredulously at the claim and rolled his stormy gray eyes. Minho could almost swear he caught the man’s lips tug upwards just the slightest bit but the stoic, flat look was back in an instant before he could really be sure.

“I'm Thomas,” Thomas began easily, his voice light and casual and amazingly not betraying in the slightest the nervous pounding of his heart Minho could so easily hear.

“And this here shank,” The Runner continued lightly, gesturing with one hand to where Minho stood at his side, gaze still fixed on Derek and full of distaste. “Is my best friend, Minho.” Thomas finished with a winning smile that was doing horrible things to Minho’s heterosexuality - Running a bulldozer through it to be exact. 

“He’s also a hard ass on the outside but a total marshmallow deep down.” Thomas added teasingly, letting his humor filled eyes flick to Minho as a smirk pulled at his pink lips and the Asian sent a quick elbow into the kid’s ribs. 

“Nice! We're totally gonna get along great, I can tell!” Stiles declared optimistically, pausing to throw the two Gladers a cheeky thumbs up and a pleased grin.

The scent of Thomas's relief and happiness exploded in Minho's senses, laying all else to ruin as he reveled in its addictive, blissful sweetness and accepted the fact that he was completely and utterly shucked. Drive that bulldozer, Thomas. Who needs heterosexuality? Not Minho. He never liked girls that much anyway. Shuck girls.  

“Well, I for one am starving. What ya’ll say we take this little reunion to Arby's?” Stiles suggested eagerly and Thomas immediately nodded vigorously in reply, reminding Minho with a pointed pang of guilt that he had failed to feed his mate. His wolf wanted to whimper. He stubbornly told it not to. 

“Great! ‘Cause there's an order of curly fries with my name on ‘em and they call to me: Stiles, why have you abandoned us? We suffer so without your mouth wrapped around us, just like De-” Stiles began but was abruptly cut off when Derek sprang forward to slap a wide hand over the teen’s mouth, smothering whatever lewd comment had been about to escape those pink lips. 

“Not another word.” The alpha warned in what sounded to Minho like a totally scary, legitimately threatening, voice but Stiles seemed entirely unphased and the Asian could almost swear that the other wolf’s cheeks were tinged pink as he finally pulled back his hand with a final warning glare. 

“Curly fries..?” Thomas questioned hesitantly after a moment, voicing Minho’s own confusion as Stiles’s eyes widened to the size of small saucers and the teen sucked in an appalled gasp.

“You've never had curly fries?” Stiles whimpered disbelievingly, gazing at the pair as if they'd just committed a sin far worse than murder as they nodded simultaneously in acknowledgement. 

“Come, Sourwolf! To the wolf-mobile! We must cleanse the streets of these unspeakable crimes!” Stiles declared enthusiastically, grabbing Derek by the sleeve and already beginning to haul him along toward the parking lot. How such a lank and skinny boy managed to move that brick wall, Minho had no idea. 

“Stiles, no.” Derek huffed exasperatedly as he allowed himself to be drug through the grassy expanse of the park. 

“Fiinnnee,” Stiles groaned disappointedly. “Come, Derek! To the Camaro! We must get these poor, unfortunate souls some curly fries!” The boy tried but his voice lacked it's earlier vigor and he groaned dejectedly. 

“Do you have any idea how incredibly boring that sounded compared to my version, Der?” The teen huffed irritably, earning another eye roll from his companion. Minho was starting to think that was their thing - Communicate affection through intense rolling of the eyes. Notes taken.

“Do you want me to ignore the fact that you just got into a growl-off with some guy?” Thomas quipped teasingly, pausing to smirk briefly at Minho before beginning to trail after Stiles’s and Derek’s retreating forms. 

“That would be great.” Minho snorted dismissively, secretly immensely grateful Thomas was willing not to pry.  _ Hey, my inner wolf has decided your it's mate and oh, yeah, I forgot to mention I'm actually a shape shifting monstrosity, by the way.  _ Was not actually a conversation Minho was ready to have here in the park, or anywhere else for that matter. Ever. 

“Weirdo.” Thomas scoffed jovially as the pair hurried to catch up with their new companions, who had made it most of the way across the grassy field and were now beginning to step onto asphalt. 

Oh, Thomas had no idea. Minho was a weirdo now? Well then, let's hope the boy never found out about Minho’s constant desire to rub himself all over the smaller male to ensure his scent was left on his mate and everyone else would know the brunette was off limits. Yeah. Let's hope he never finds that out, please, for the love of the gods. 

“Now, I know you're thinking, ‘Stiles, how did you ever get your hands on a total hunk with such a sexy car?’” Stiles began eagerly as he finally came to a halt in front a shiny, rich looking vehicle that looked entirely too low riding too be comfortable in Minho’s opinion. “I’d love to tell you, but I honestly have no idea either.” The excitable boy admitted with a snicker and a dismissive wave. Derek Hale merely snorted. 

“Because I've never been able to find a way to get rid of you yet.” The brooding dude groaned in a gruff, gravelly voice that sounded entirely void of humor, as if that were seriously the reason why he was with Stiles but, again, the younger male looked completely unbothered. 

“Yep! I practically live under your skin, you couldn't shake me if you tried!” Stiles agreed enthusiastically as he pulled open the door of the car and made an elaborate, welcoming bow toward the back seats. 

Minho was starting to believe that Stiles must simply be more fluent in Derek Hale as he never took offence to the cold comments, maybe he could read something in the guy’s bushy eyebrows that the Asian couldn't. All Minho for one was reading in their hairy depths as he climbed into the vehicle was, “please trim me, for shucks sake.”

Thomas scrambled in after the Runner a moment later, squishing close up against the older boy in the tiny, cramped space the back seats offered. 

Minho felt his heartbeat pick up immediately at the contact, a sensation he tried desperately to ignore as Stiles climbed into the passenger seat and Derek moved around the car to take a seat behind the wheel. Though, it was rather difficult to ignore his skyrocketing pulse when their driver had the nerve to catch Minho’s eye in the rear-view mirror and shoot him a knowing smirk. Because, of course, the other wolf could hear the Keeper's unobedient heartbeat and had to be a total dick about it. Minho hated this guy already. 

“Min, you look like you wanna choke somebody.” Thomas informed the Asian as Derek finally stopped being a twat and reverted his focus to slipping a silver key into the waiting ignition and bringing the Camaro to life with a powerful roar of the engine. 

“ ‘M just peachy, Shuckface.” Minho assured stubbornly, earning a small eye roll from his friend. Though the quick circle of Thomas's hazel orbs was nothing to Derek's elaborate eye rolls of exasperation in which Minho was legitimately concerned the guy’s eyes might get stuck in the back of his head.

“You realize you're an ass, right, Minho?” Thomas grumbled distastefully before pausing to stick his tongue out at the older boy. “And you're as stubborn as one too.” The teen concluded with a snicker as their ride began to pick up speed, threading in and out of lanes of traffic as if the other cars were turtles.

“Der-Bear, think maybe you should slow down just an itsy bitsy bit?” Stiles questioned anxiously, his voice at least an octave higher than the last time he'd spoke as his hazel orbs widened drastically.

“You said you were hungry.” Speed Racer replied curtly, his smirk practically audible in his tone as he merely increased their speed and Minho watched Thomas’s twin’s fingernails dig into the expensive leather seat he sat upon.

But Thomas himself had his gaze glued to his window with interest, honey eyes trailing the other vehicles they wooshed by and a slight smile pulling at his full lips as he watched. His smell was sweet with the aroma of contentment and had a delicious edge of excitement to it that Minho would absolutely love to just drown himself in for the rest of his natural life. 

Suddenly, the younger boy leaned over Minho to get a look out of the Asian’s glass panel, placing one hand on the teen’s broad chest while the other rested against the Keeper’s right thigh as he threw his body over the expanse of the back seat. “Have you ever seen anything so awesome?” The brunette quipped, supposedly referring to something out of the window that Minho couldn't be bothered to look at at the moment. 

“Nope.” Minho practically whimpered, his voice coming out much higher than he’d intended as his dark eyes stayed locked on the boy sprawled across his lap despite his command for them to gaze at whatever had caught his friend’s attention. The Asian’s heart leapt into his throat and his blood was determined to rush _lower_ at the sensation of the other male’s hand gripping his leg, so dangerously close to his crotch. _Grandma tits. Saggy, nasty, wrinkly grandma tits._ _Do. Not. Get. A. Boner._

_ Pin him to a wall, _ Wolfy demanded eagerly.

_ GRANDMA TITS. We're thinking about gross grandma tits!  _ Minho countered but he knew he was fighting a losing battle. However, the gods decided to smile upon his tormented soul for once in his luckless life and the car came to a sudden screeching halt a moment later, sending Thomas flailing from his place on Minho’s lap and onto the floorboard of the vehicle with a disgruntled yelp of surprise. 

“You good, bro?” Stiles inquired quickly, turning about in his seat to gaze concernedly at the boy on the floor, though he himself looked a thousand times more frazzled than Thomas. His hazel orbs were blown wide and his skin looked a good few shades whiter than it had at the park even in the dim light filtering in through the car windows. 

“ ‘M fine.” Thomas assured quickly, waving off the other boy as he pushed himself back up and Minho aided him with a hand on his bicep, hauling him upright. 

“Next time I'd suggest a seatbelt,” Stiles teased jovially but then his gaze turned irritated as he whipped around to glare angrily at their driver. “Since Derek here doesn't believe in speed limits!” The brunette grumbled frantically, earning naught but a playful smirk and yet another eye roll from the alpha in question.

Minho for one was just relieved to be freed from the awkward situation he’d found himself trapped in mere moments ago as Stiles popped open the passenger side door and climbed out with a final huff. 

He honestly wasn't sure he could've kept his wolf under control if Thomas had stayed sprawled across his lap a moment longer - Especially considering the fact that he was barely keeping it under control now as Thomas scrambled over the seat to escape the car, putting his perky ass directly in Minho’s line of sight in the process and doing horrible things to the Asian’s self control.

Finally, Thomas cleared the distance between him and the outdoors and Minho pulled himself out after him, relieved to finally be able to stretch his legs out once more as he came to stand beside the vehicle. 

“I could smell your arousal from a mile off, pup. Please refrain from creaming your jeans in the back of my car.” A gruff, irritating voice growled softly from behind Minho as Thomas and Stiles began making their way towards the restaurant, apparently too immersed in their conversation about the wonders of a deep fryer to take note of the interaction taking place behind them.

“What was that Stiles was saying about how you were similar to curly fries in that,” Minho began without looking behind himself. “What was it again? You both suffer when his lips aren't wrapped around you?” The Asian countered snydly, smirking as the comment elicited a low growl from the other wolf. 

Oh yeah, him and Derek were gonna get along just peachy. That was, if the guy didn't rip his throat out in the next five minutes.

Luckily, Derek apparently decided to refrain from dismembering Minho in a fast food joint parking lot, simply deciding to grumble something about annoying horny teenagers instead as the Asian began making his way toward the restaurant after his friend. 

The entire place smelled of grease and regret as Minho pushed open the glass door the twins had disappeared into and hurriedly made his way inside after them. The wolf’s sense of smell was impaired drastically by the sickening mixture’s potent aroma but, nevertheless, he was able to pick out the familiar sweet and tangy scent of his mate almost instantly and hurriedly followed it through the crowd. 

Thomas was standing near Stiles at the front of the line, gazing bewilderedly at the menu as if it were written in a foreign language as his brother rambled off his own order to the cashier. The teen’s honey orbs were wide with disbelief as he scanned over the options, eyes never resting on anything more than a millisecond. 

“Jesus, shuck, I wish Frypan were here.” The Runner hissed to Minho as the Asian came to stand at his side, letting his own wandering gaze trace over the plethora of variety. There were sandwiches of every shape, size, and flavor, drinks ranging from lemonade to diet coke, not to mention  everything you could possibly think to stick in a deep fryer to boot. 

“What can I get for you?” A woman with short, toneless black hair cropped just above the base of her neck inquired in an annoying singsong voice, beaming as if the world had gifted her with every pleasure it had to offer. 

“Uh.” Thomas stuttered out unintelligently, looking like a deer in the headlights as he stared blankly at the thousands of food selections available. 

“If you're unsure, I would totally recommend a Rubin with cheesy fries on the side, or maybe a grilled chicken with tater tots,” Misses Sunshine Smiles rambled off excitedly. “But maybe you'd be more of a ultimate fries kinda guy and if you are they go amazingly with our lemonade, but it's a summer special so maybe you shouldn't get hooked on it and should just try-” The girl continued quickly, listing off far too many options in far too little an amount of time for Minho to understand any of it and he eventually stopped listening. Thomas didn't get any of it either if his blank, hesitant stare and utter silence was anything to go by.

“They just want two number ones, okay?” Stiles abruptly intervened **,** shutting up the girl and sending waves of relief over the Asian as the spotlight was taken off him and his friend and he felt Thomas relax at his side.  

“You're a lifesaver.” Thomas admitted graciously as the small group moved down the line to wait for their order but Stiles merely shrugged off the comment with a humble smile.

“Nah, man. You're my brother, right? So I gotta watch out for you.” Stiles answered easily and Minho had to admit he felt a small pang of jealousy. The Asian had recently found out, through an unfeeling report given by an unnamed Wicked scientist, that none of his family had survived the sun flares or resulting virus, which was how he'd landed in Wicked's hands to begin with. 

Admittedly, as much as he tried to be happy for his best friend and truly was relieved Thomas still had living relatives, he was undeniably envious at times, even if the fact did make him feel like a slinthead. He wanted Thomas to be happy and his own selfishness sat heavy with the weight of guilt in his chest.

“And you too, grumpy one, you're here with him, right? So you're honorary family.” Stiles continued casually, as if inviting someone into his close circle of relatives was something he did on a daily basis.

“Really?” Minho found himself stuttering out, surprised at how hopeful he actually felt as Derek Hale suddenly appeared out of thin air to stand behind a nodding Stiles. 

“Sure. You don't have to be blood to be family, like, a pack.” Stiles replied eagerly, leaning back into Mr. Appear Out of Nowhere’s muscled chest and turning his head up to meet his steely gaze. “Right, Der?” The kid questioned excitedly, entwining his long fingers with those of The Living Beefcake as he spoke. 

Derek broke his gaze off of Stiles to glance first at Thomas then at Minho, giving them each a long, hard stare before his lips twitched upwards in one of those weird, millisecond half-smirks that disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Right.” Sir Broody McShuckface finally replied blankly, earning a giddy smile from the boy still leaning against him. 

Soon after, the group's food arrived and they were finally able to grab their meal and take a seat. They chose a booth, per Stiles’s request, and Thomas and Minho took one side of it while their companions took the other.

Admittedly, as the group began to devour their respective meals - Stiles moaning like he’d been starved for months as he shoved handful after handful of fries into his face and Derek failing to act like he wasn't blushing at the sound - the Gladers sat a little closer together than the wide expanse of plush seating required. They were in a new place, full of unknown things and potential dangers, and it was honestly unsettling to be hit with so much foreign stimuli at once. 

Minho took comfort in the familiarity of Thomas’s scent and sticking close to the boy was probably the only thing keeping the werewolf from darting out of the place and hiding deep underground for the next few years. Well, there was that and the fact that Minho’s wolf was intent on making sure Thomas ate, as if it were sure the other male was about to keel over from starvation in the next five minutes.

“So, how come you guys were so late this morning?” Stiles asked after a few moments of comfortable silence had passed and every curly fry had magically disappeared from the kid’s plate in a matter of minutes - How the shuck was he still skinny?

“Our train was attacked by,” Thomas began but trailed off, a look of confusion and concentration coming over his face and distorting his pretty - Wow. Minho really just called him pretty. He was gay. He was so shucking gay - features. “Something.” Thomas finished lamely, obviously lacking a better word.

Minho caught Derek and Stiles exchange a quick, knowing look, concern and worry etched all over their faces but he never got the chance to ponder the odd occurrence - Mainly because of the fact that Thomas suddenly let out an absolutely filthy sound that pretty much destroyed Minho’s ability to focus on anything else ever again.

_ Slam him on the table.  _ Wolfy encouraged enthusiastically as Minho whipped around to see what had caused such a lewd noise to pass his friend’s lips.

Curly fries. The answer was curly fries. Curly fries had managed to make Thomas moan before Minho - Wait. Was the Asian really getting jealous of deep fried potatoes? 

Thomas groaned once more, low and full of innocent ecstasy.

Yes. Yes, Minho was getting jealous of those shucking potatoes.

Thomas had at least five of the greasy things shoved in his mouth and was staring at Minho as if Jesus Christ, Zeus, and Buda themselves had all just sat him down for a nice little chat and had revealed all the secrets of the world to him in that very moment.

“Minho!” Thomas gasped feverishly, barely pausing to swallow the food before gripping the Asian boy by the collar of his shirt and dragging him closer. “You have to try these,” Thomas continued breathlessly, sounding more like he’d run a marathon rather than taken a bite of deep fried wonder as he snatched up a fry and shoved it into the Keeper's mouth before the older boy had a chance to protest.

Minho wished he could've experienced whatever sodium filled ecstasy Thomas seemed high on but, with the younger boy’s fingers brushing against his lips, tasting wasn't really an option. It was taking every fiber of his being not to choke in surprise as his friend finally pulled his hand back and stared intensely at the Asian, honey eyes boring into him expectantly. 

Minho was sure he heard Derek snort somewhere in the background, probably due to the fact that his heart rate had suddenly decided to join the Mile High Club but all he could focus on was trying to force his jaws to chew the morsel as Thomas wanted him to without throwing up everything he’d ever eaten. 

“It's shucking good, right?” Thomas pressed eagerly, grinning like a madman as Minho simply nodded in response, not trusting his voice in the least as he swallowed the bite and felt it slide like a pound of lead to his stomach, attempting to catch in his throat at every opportunity.

“Shucking?” Stiles repeated incredulously, one, disbelieving eyebrow quirked and an unconvinced smirk tugging at his lips. That was, until both Thomas and Minho turned to gaze questioningly at him, confusion at the boy’s reaction clearly written across both of their faces as Minho shared a bewildered glance with Thomas and felt his own features twist into a befuddled frown. 

Stiles burst into a fit of laughter, drawing every single person in the Arby's gaze toward the group's table as he snorted uncontrollably. 

“Shucking! Oh, oh my god!” Stiles squawked wildly, holding his stomach and sucking in huge gulps of air in an attempt to reign in his laughter. A few more, sparse snickers escaped him as he leaned into Derek and smacked his hand against the table, biting his lower lip to smother the giggles before he finally straightened up and looked in amused disbelief at the confused boys sitting across from him, pausing to wipe a tear from his eye before he spoke.

“Oh dude, I've got a lot to teach you.”


	4. A Not So Hot Homecoming

“Fuck.” Thomas repeated for about the thousandth time in the past hour, mouthing over the foreign word Stiles had taught him slowly, as if trying to decide if he liked how it tasted on his lips or not. Minho would love to see what other things those pink lips enjoyed the flavor of - Jesus, could his libido please chill for like, two seconds? 

“Give it up, shuckface. You sound like a complete idiot.” Minho scoffed teasingly, shifting about on the hard wooden step he currently sat upon. 

“That's what you said when I first started using Glader Slang too.” Thomas countered defensively, turning to smirk smugly at his companion, who merely rolled his dark eyes in response.

“That's ‘cause you did, still do actually. Your Glader Slang sucks, Tomboy.” The Keeper informed slyly. “Just admit it, you'll never be as smooth as this fine piece of perfection.” Minho continued cockily,gesturing to himself with a long, elaborate sweep of his hand.

“And so humble too.” Thomas snorted amusedly before leaning back on the palms of his hands and fixing his gaze to the ceiling. “What if he doesn't like me?” The teen moaned anxiously, his scent picking up a harsh tang of worry that made Minho flinch. 

“Thomas, c’mon, he'd have to be dumb not to like you.” The wolf insisted resolutely for the billionth time today. If there was anything Thomas had said more than “fuck” in the past five minutes alone, it was this. 

The pair was sitting at the base of a wooden stairwell in the Stilinski household, awaiting the eventual arrival of Thomas’s supposive father - One, Sheriff Noah Stilinski. Stiles had left them there alone about an hour ago, claiming that he thought he shouldn't be there for such a private moment. Though Minho still caught the teen’s scent every few minutes, letting him know the boy was obviously eavesdropping from somewhere nearby.

Minho had thought about leaving too when Stiles had bailed in honor of the father-son relationship that didn't exist yet; but the moment he had risen to do so, Thomas had grabbed him by the hand and yanked him roughly back down at his side. So, here he sat, desperately trying to restrain himself from nuzzling into his companion’s side as his instincts told him he should do to comfort his mate.

Thomas opened his mouth, supposedly to reply and not just to invite Minho’s imagination on a hormone driven joy ride, but the sound of the front door knob being jostled caused the brunette to snap his lips shut instantly, bringing an abrupt and gory end to the Keeper's fantasy. The smaller male snatched his arm out and captured the Asian’s hand in his own instinctually, going tense all over as he gripped the appendage with the force of a vice and practically trembling as his honey eyes widened and focused on the door. 

The gesture was probably purely platonic. Thomas needed comfort and Minho happened to have nice hands that easily doubled as convenient, makeshift stress balls, that’s all. Even still though, the Runner undeniably felt his lips tug into a small smile and decided it was best to just ignore the tormenting flutter his heart decided to betray him with as he squeezed the younger boy’s hand back in reassurance.  

Finally, after an agonizingly long pause in which the intruder struggled with the brass knob and cursed in a vivid array of vocabulary Minho would have to get Stiles to educate him on later, the front door was pushed open with a final huff of exasperation and an older looking man entered. The guy had to be at least in his forties and the years hadn’t been gentle on him if the deep wrinkles and stress lines maring his face were anything to go by, but yet, his face looked kind and gentle at the same time. 

The word  _ trustable _ came to mind as the man turned his gaze on the pair, his dark eyes full of welcome and warmth as he slowly moved forward a few slow steps. Though, the Asian had learned long ago not to trust anyone, no matter how genuine they may seem. Minho had Thomas and that was enough, thanks. No risk taking here, buddy. 

Thomas must've reached a similar conclusion as his steely grip on Minho’s captured hand tightened until the wolf wasn't quite sure all of his fingers were still present and accounted for anymore. The smell of the boy’s unease rolled off him in waves, crashing over the Keeper and making the werewolf want to circle himself around his mate’s small body and shield him from the rest of the dangerous world - Instead the Asian settled for rubbing a soothing thumb along the younger male’s wrist and edging a little closer to him, until their shoulders brushed and Thomas leaned back into him in the slightest. 

“I'm assuming you're the boys who survived hell, not just two teenagers who were dumb enough to sneak into the sheriff's house?” The guy joked lightly, though his voice was thick with choked back emotion and his eyes were swimming with an odd mix of amazement and sorrow as he locked their intense gaze on Thomas.

“That's us.” The brunette clarified curtly, squirming about uncomfortably under the sheriff's stare until he finally rose to his feet, pulling Minho up to stand beside him and never loosening his steely grip on the Asian’s hand in the slightest. 

“Stephan…” The sheriff began carefully, his eyes suddenly growing misty as the name passed his thin lips, the dark orbs brimming with unshed tears as he took a hesitant step toward the pair.

“My name is Thomas.” The Runner asserted hastily, his voice keening up with an edge of panic that made Minho dart out a quick hand and grip the smaller boy by the arm before he could stop himself. Luckily, Thomas instinctually backed into Minho’s chest in defense as he spoke, so the whole arm grab thing must not have appeared too weird if the fact that the smaller male was still drawing back into the Asian was anything to go by. 

“Right, Thomas.” The sheriff corrected quickly, looking momentarily hurt but letting the look fall way to a face of understanding as he held his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “Thomas and Minho, wasn't it?” The guy continued carefully, turning his searching gaze to Minho as he spoke and offering a small smile of welcome to the Keeper. 

The Asian tried to return the friendly gesture but he was pretty sure the action ended up looking more like a pained grimace on him as the sheriff shifted awkwardly under his gaze and reached an arm up to scratch uncertainly behind his neck.  

“Well, um, I’m sure you’re both tired after your long trip. Those train rides can be a bitch I hear.” Sheriff Stilinski mumbled hesitantly, already beginning to move about the foyer they currently stood in as if moving through his usual nightly routine. The guy undid a sleek black holster and placed it on a nearby table, the familiar metallic glint of a gun catching the dim light and shining maliciously from inside the leather carrier.  

“Yep.” Thomas squeaked hastily, going stiff as a board for some inexplicable reason as his hazel orbs fixed on the weapon, wide and uneasy, as if he half expected it to spring up and bite him in the ass. The boy’s scent went sour with a harsh edge of unease and a musky note of something Minho couldn’t quite place at the moment, leaving the Keeper confused and curious. The reaction could easily be accountable to the younger male having been shot before but somehow that didn’t sound exactly right, though Minho had no other explanation to offer. 

“Well, there’s a spare room upstairs one of you can use and the couch in the living room pulls out…” The Sheriff began but let his offer trail off as Minho felt a spark of panic ignite inside of him and he immediately pressed closer to his companion, feeling Thomas shrink back into him simultaneously as they both tensed. The thought of being separated from the younger male felt wrong on all levels and each boy’s expression must have revealed that for their host relented instantly, looking startled by their strong reaction and waving his hand as if to shoo away his previous suggestion. 

“Actually, the spare room has a big bed. You could probably both fit!” The Sheriff offered quickly, looking relieved as Minho’s shoulders retreated from the sky high arch they’d shot into and the Keeper felt his friend relax against him, audibly letting out a shaky sigh that did ungodly things to Minho’s resolve. 

“Okay. Thanks for letting us stay here.” Thomas replied gratefully, beginning to turn and retreat up the long wooden staircase but he only made it a step or two away when their host called him back.

“Wait!” The Sheriff yelped hastily, halting his estranged son’s departure as the boy moved back to his previous position with a questioning look. “Um,” The guy began and took a slow step forward, hesitantly extending his arms and looking imploringly at the teen, an unspoken plea.

Thomas hesitated for a long, tense moment in which no one moved. The Sheriff didn’t dare come a step closer to the boy without permission and Minho had no earthly idea how he was supposed to behave in the awkward situation he’d loyally followed his mate into. How many times had the Keeper followed the brunette into insane predicaments now? At least this one probably wouldn't end in half their friends meeting an untimely demise... Hopefully.  

Finally, Thomas inched forward a miniscule distance, it wasn’t much but it was enough to silently grant the guy his request and the Sheriff absolutely beamed in reply as he moved forward to close the distance between them. 

Minho had imagined what a moment like this might be like at least a thousand different times, as any boy who couldn't remember his own parents would. He’d imagined what his father would look like and how happy he would be to have Minho back. The Asian pictured a hundred different ways the grand moment of reunion might look and how his long lost father would undoubtedly pull him into a bone snapping hug with promises to never let anything bad happen to him ever again. Through all the horrors of the Maze, and the Scorch, and the experiments, the Keeper had always held out the slightest sliver of hope for that fantasy moment. Obviously, since all of Minho’s family were six feet under, or, more likely, hideous remnants of their former selves, cranked out and feasting on the flesh of their friends, that was never going to happen.

 The familiar feeling of a poisonous jealousy leaking into his veins came to call, leaving Minho feeling guilty, and horrible, and envious all at the same time as the Sheriff eventually wrapped his arms around the Asian’s best friend and pulled the smaller boy into himself. However, every minuscule ounce of envy drained from the teen as he actually witnessed the scene play out and realized reality was, once again, nothing like his daydreams and vain hopes had promised.

Sheriff Stilinski had pulled Minho’s friend so far that they’d actually turned in the process so that now the Asian could see his companion’s face as the boy tentatively wrapped his arms around the unfamiliar man. Thomas kept casting the Keeper fearful glances over his father’s shoulder, hazel orbs swimming with a long engraved mistrust and guardedness that prevented any actual happiness at the reunion from occurring and revealed the true extent of the damage inflicted upon Minho’s closest friend.

Minho growled unintentionally, his eyes glinting momentarily in the darkness before he managed to reign himself back in, not willing to reveal his secret to his friend just yet or ever, if it were up to him. Wicked had broken Thomas. The shattered boy couldn’t even enjoy this one, simple moment after all that they'd done to him. Both Minho’s wolf and human sides wanted to rip each and every one of those fucker’s throats out. (Props to Stiles, for making his unspoken threats sound that much cooler.) 

Sheriff Stilinski eventually released his steely grip on Thomas after a long moment of awkward silence and unbroken tension, stepping back from the boy with unshed tears visibly brimming in his dark orbs.  “I’m glad your home.” The man whispered in a quavering, watery voice before stubbornly biting his quivering lower lip and turning his kind gaze on Minho. “Any you too, Minho, wasn’t it?” The man questioned, patiently waiting for the Asian to give a curt nod before continuing. “You protected my son when I couldn’t,” Stilinski asserted, his voice shaky and emotional as Minho opened his mouth to question how the sheriff could know such a thing. 

The wolf was starting to get a sneaking suspicion that maybe mind readers, dragons, and talking bottles of whisky for fucks sake wouldn’t be wholeheartedly unheard of in Beacon Hills.   

“Don’t ask. I can just tell,” Noah Stilinski continued resolutely, merely holding up a hand to silence the Keeper the moment the teen opened his mouth. “You followed him here didn’t you? Old, I may be, blind I am not.” The dude declared surely and Minho finally closed his mouth, admitting defeat with an easy shrug, the man wasn’t wrong. 

“You protected him and you’ll keep protecting him and honestly I’m really glad you’re here too, son. You belong in this house as long as he’s here.” Noah finally concluded gruffly, his voice void of any uncertainty or hesitation as he gazed directly at Minho, dark eyes pinning the boy in their unrelenting confidence.

Minho for one didn’t know where the sudden declaration came from, maybe this dude was senile or just always this much of a disgustingly soft sap, but the Asian would be lying if he said the comforting words didn’t make him feel the least bit warm inside. Minho was happy he had a place. Minho’s wolf was happy someone else was finally smart enough to acknowledge him as Thomas’s sworn protector - When he swore that, Minho had no idea, but according to Wolfy he had and would abide by it until the end of his days. 

“Thank you.” Minho simply coughed out curtly, wincing at how awkward he sounded even to his own ears, but the Sheriff smiled warmly at him before shooting the same kind look to Thomas, who returned it much smoother than Minho’s attempt. The boy’s return smile looked genuine and made the Asian’s heart flutter in a way that reminded him of a cheesy sitcom and kinda sparked the desire to puke inside him. When did he get so cheesy, gods help him? How could one boy turn him into a literal pile of living mush with something so simple as curling his lips upwards? Though the action did also involve making his hazel eyes sparkle like sunlight glinting off a still lake, giving a sweet hint of contentment to his already perfect smell, and relaxing for a brief moment, gifting Minho with the breathtaking sight of his pretty face free of the lines of stress, and… Fuck. Again with the cheese. How did he let it get this bad? Oh right, Thomas was perfect. That’s how.

Finally, their host waved them off with a final parting “sleep well,” that Minho doubted either of them would actually succeed in listening too as a lifetime of torture and deception tended to lead to a variety of poor sleeping habits. However, the Asian liked to hope that perhaps this new life, in this new place, could offer one of those “new beginnings” people always wanted to promise but never actually happened. You don’t just “begin again. “ You’re still going to be the same old you, with the same old scars, now you’re just lying to yourself as well. 

Well, a new chapter then. Maybe Minho could hope for a new chapter.  


	5. A Rough Night

Darkness engulfed the world as sleep hung over Minho’s exhausted mind and drug him down into its heavy, black depths. Sleep sunk it's poisonous claws into the teen and kept him locked in its unrelenting hold, the icy jaws of the beast clamping over his body and keeping him prisoner against his will.

Something was wrong. Minho needed to wake up. 

The werewolf fought against the unbreakable grip of exhaustion to regain consciousness as fear settled over his heart and panic began to swell inside him like a balloon filling his chest and threatening to pop if another single ounce of tension dared add itself to the lot.

Thomas’s scent exploded in his senses, but it was wrong. Terror soured the alluring smell and the sickening mix was highlighted by that unrecognizable musky tang Minho still failed to place, but it was strengthened tenfold now. The concoction truthfully scared the Keeper and made his wolf want to snarl at whatever had dared threaten his fragile mate, which Minho would totally endorse right now if he could perhaps open his fucking eyes.

Finally, after much more struggle than he would like to admit, Minho roused himself into consciousness with a final groan of effort and opened his dark orbs to the waking world. The wolf was in a large bed, full of billowing white sheets and fluffy pillows his head practically sank into and a pleasant dark, but not smotheringly so, haze rested over the scene. 

Minho might’ve considered it a comforting, relaxing environment - Well, had it not been for the boy beside him sending those nice white sheets into a airborne, tangly mess, that was.

Thomas screamed, the harsh sound ripping from his throat as if drug out by the invisible claws of some horrible beast only the brunette could see before the noise petered out into desperate whimpers of terror that stabbed Minho’s heart which was, for some ungodly reason, a thousand times more sensitive when it came to Thomas. Aside from that, the teen thrashed wildly, entwining the sheets over themselves and with his flailing limbs until it was all one huge, complex knot that made his companion dizzy just to look at, let alone untangle. 

“Thomas!” Minho hissed urgently, a note of fear lacing his voice despite the apparent lack of any sensible immediate danger as he shrugged off the last remaining tendrils of sleep and struggled up into a sitting position to aid his friend.

Thomas, apparently, was deaf to the world, ignoring Minho’s call and still scrambling to escape his invisible demons, letting out pathetic, desperate cries every few seconds that immediately elicited a protective growl from Minho. The sound reverberated from deep in the wolf’s chest and forced itself past his lips before he could restrain it as he reached a tentative hand out to touch the smaller boy’s shoulder, ignoring the pressing urge to draw his mate into his chest and snarl at anything that dare threaten him. 

“Thomas, man, c’mon!” Minho tried anxiously, fighting to keep not only his pressing dismay but also a feral growl from his voice as he felt his eyes become luminescent against his will - Maybe he should invest in a spray bottle for his disobedient canine counterpart.

“Murderer!” Thomas suddenly screeched in horror, the single word ripping from his lips like a razor blade as he jolted straight up, his honey eyes blown wide in fear and every muscle in his small frame going completely rigid for a brief moment as Minho tentatively reached for him and placed a strong hand on each of the kid’s shoulders. The younger male looked right past his friend as Minho leaned in closer, his lips curving downwards as he shook the kid slightly and began talking, trying to bring him back to reality. 

“Thomas. Hey, Thomas, you're scaring me man.” Minho tried in a fear laced voice, gripping his companion’s pale forearms and struggling to keep his wolf under control to prevent his claws from popping out and accidentally harming the other boy. “Come back, Tommy. We're safe. I promise.” The Asian whimpered, his voice sounding far too desperate for his own liking, but his pride was all but forgotten as the dead stare remained in his mate’s hazel orbs, making his wolf practically whine in its panic. 

All at once, the trance shattered, recognition alighting in Thomas’s honey eyes and his rigid stance laid to ruin as he suddenly collapsed into a trembling mess in Minho’s arms. 

  
Minho started at the abrupt change but his sharp instincts and pre-existing grip on Thomas allowed him to react instantly, catching the smaller boy and gathering him up in his arms before the teen could fall against the bed - Admittedly, in moments like this, Minho had to confess that sometimes being a werewolf had odd benefits  (Like being able to smell himself on Thomas - No! Bad wolf! Do you have any earthly idea how creepy that sounds?)

“Min, I… I… Newt! He… I…” Thomas sputtered unintelligibly for a moment before his words were lost to horrible, frame wracking sobs that left the boy trembling as his fingers instinctually twisted into the cloth of Minho’s shirt and he wailed into the soft fabric, burying his face into the Asian’s chest in an attempt to smother the sound. 

The mention of the blond sent a searing pang of sorrow through Minho’s heart, the sting of losing the final part of their best friend trio still a fresh wound he’d deliberately avoided prodding since they’d last left the other boy at the Crank Palace. Still though, his wolf was too concerned with whatever had his mate so upset to dwell on the dull ache the loss of his friend left for long and he pressed on through the conversation diligently, no matter how bad it hurt.

“What about Newt, Tom?” Minho questioned softly, trying to keep his voice low and soothing as he began to rub slow circles into the clinging boy’s back and started to rock the pair slowly, unsure of how else to provide comfort, besides the licking his wolf was adamantly suggesting and Minho was, just as adamantly, vetoing. 

“I…” Thomas gasped out frantically, twisting the cotton material still clasped within his steely grip into tight fists that were definitely stretching out the garment beyond the point of repair. However, the boy spoke not a word more as his scent ignited with the horrendously, mindcloudingly sour scent of pure, petrifying, terror and took on that familiar, unrecognizable musky note as tears began to well in his hazel orbs, adding the harsh tang of salt water to the already stomach churning mix. 

“Shh… Shh… You don’t have too.” Minho declared hastily, unsure of what he was promising but willing to profess his undying love to Derek Hale, King of the Assholes, if it made Thomas stop crying at the moment. Both his human and wolf ached at his apparent inability to aid his companion in any way, restrained to simply mumbling soft shushes into brown hair and holding the kid close as the younger boy wept silently, the smell of salt the only giveaway as Thomas buried his head in his friend’s chest and didn’t make a sound, obviously too drained to do anything but let the tears fall. 

Minho could face Grievers, and Cranks, and hazy apparitions that seemed intent on petty crimes like knocking down ice cream stand signs like a five year old throwing a temper tantrum, but he could not deal with this. Thomas was shuddering in his arms, trembling like a Parkinson’s victim and whimpering in the smallest, most vulnerable voice every few seconds and Minho could do  _ nothing.  _ It killed him and drove his wolf mad, leaving him legitimately concerned the beast might rip free of his hold and start howling at the moon if Thomas didn’t stop making such heart wrenching sounds, preferably in the next five minutes. Minho never had been good at self-control. 

“ ‘M sorry, Min.” Thomas finally mumbled after a few long moments of silence in which Minho battled with his inner fanged friend to prevent his claws from suddenly making a grand appearance and tried to focus solely on the boy snuggled up against his chest rather than his desire to dismember something. 

“Eh. Not really your fault. You didn’t sign yourself up to be someone’s tormented lab rat.” Minho huffed grumply, praising himself for keeping a low growl from his voice before his own words brought a new question to his mind. Wicked had managed to grab Minho because he was orphaned but Thomas… Well, Thomas obviously wasn’t, unless Sheriff Stilinski was just some delusional figment Minho’s abused mind had conjured up. 

“But-” Thomas began unhappily, obviously sounding displeased with himself, before Minho pressed a finger to his friend’s lips forcefully, making a irritated “shh” motion with his own mouth and rolling his dark eyes with a jovial smirk tugging at his lips.

“Talking is only gonna keep me up longer, shank.” Minho pointed out teasingly, earning a disgruntled scowl from Thomas who tried to open his pretty pink lips to protest once more only to have the Asian push his finger against them again. “Just get some sleep, yeah? I don’t wanna deal with your grumpy, sleep-deprived ass in the morning.” The Keeper commanded stubbornly, pulling the boy back into a lying position with him before actually giving his friend a chance to respond. 

Thomas groaned exasperatedly but didn’t vocalize any other protest as he let his body be tugged down onto the soft mattress once more, never really moving away from Minho as the wolf expected him to as he nestled his head into one of the plush pillows and went lax almost immediately. 

Minho thought briefly that maybe he should make an effort to untangle himself from his companion but his wolf was having none of it, apparently still feeling protective of its mate after such a display of vulnerability and the idea was snuffed out almost instantly. Instead the werewolf snuggled closer to the younger boy and greedily indulged himself in wrapping his arms securely around the smaller frame of his mate as he so badly wanted to, his wolf practically preening as Thomas’s scent began to lose its acidic edge and returned to its normal intoxicating sweet aroma. The Keeper couldn’t help but feel that the change was at least partially due to his presence and close proximity, silently hoping that Thomas read his actions as the silent promise of protection they truly were. 

Minho finally started to doze off after many a long moment, focusing on the sound of Thomas's heartbeat growing steady once more and feeling almost high off the alluring smell of his mate so close to him. The boy’s scent mingled with his own, essentially ensuring every other wolf that neared the teen would smell Minho upon him and know to back off - This one was already claimed. Yeah. The Asian should probably take some time to think about how weird wanting to leave his smell all over Thomas really was tomorrow; but for now, he couldn't force himself to do so. Nope. For now, this freak was just going to enjoy his guilty pleasure and listen to the slow, steady breathing of his mate, the sound assuring him the boy was both asleep and, more importantly, alive and in his arms.

The brief moment of relaxation only lasted a few short moments however; for as Minho lay in the darkness, a slightly unfamiliar smell invaded his senses and instantly he was alert, eyes flashing luminescent blue in the blackness without the werewolf even bothering to reign them in this time. His wolf was intent on protecting his sweet, vulnerable mate and Minho was in no place to stop it even if he’d wanted too. Surprisingly, the Asian consciously allowed a low, warning growl to pass his lips as he pulled the slumbering boy still held safely in his strong arms closer to himself, totally in agreement with his internal beast that Thomas should be protected at all costs.

Surprisingly, though, the intruder pushed open the door to the room a little bit more, as if trying to purposefully reveal their location to the defensive wolf, who immediately snapped his head toward the sound, fangs extended and bared threateningly.

“I'm not here to hurt your mate.” A small voice whispered slowly and Stiles came into view, looking far less scared than he should at the sight of a wolfed-out dude growling at him. “I just heard the screaming and came to check that everything was alright.” The boy continued softly, keeping his tone gentle and maintaining the distance between him and where Minho loomed over Thomas, having hoisted himself up to tower protectively over the smaller male at some point he didn't quite remember.

“How did you..?” Minho began carefully, letting the unnatural color slowly bleed out of his eyes and allowing his fiercer features to retreat as Stiles made no moves toward the bed, as if he knew that approaching would only spark the wolf’s protective instincts once more. 

“Derek used to be the same way,” Stiles explained easily, waving his hand as if to dismiss Minho’s unspoken inquiry. “Still is most of the time actually.” Thomas’s twin snickered amusedly, looking fondly at nothing for a moment before seeming to come back to himself.

“Well, congratulations on figuring it out quicker than your brother over here.” Minho snorted bitterly, still unsure how Thomas had actually failed to realize the Keeper's feelings for him after all this time. Good gods, Minho had been flirting his fucking face off to no avail as soon as he laid eyes on the pretty brunette back in the Glade. Apparently, Thomas was blind. It was the only possible explanation to his sheer inability to notice the Asian’s countless advances. Because friends always get mad at girls for even talking to the other and tell one another “I love you,” right? Apparently in Thomas’s world they did. 

“Yeah. Apparently obliviousness runs in the family.” Stiles scoffed lightly before giggling slightly at something Minho wasn't let in on at first. “You should've seen the look on Der’s face when I told him I had no idea he liked me.” The boy snickered, making a poor attempt to muffle his laughter behind his hand. “He looked like a fucking tomato!” The kid nearly howled in a shrill whisper before giggling uncontrollably and leaving Minho awed that they'd failed to wake up his Sleeping Beauty yet - Wow. Add that to the ever growing list of, “Most awkward things ever thought. Seriously, ever.” Also, the Asian could not it any way, shape, or form imagine Derek Hale, the broodiest fucker to ever exist, looking like a fruit of any kind. Let alone a bright red tomato. 

“I'm sure he likes you too though, if it makes you feel any better.” Stiles assured optimistically, apparently oblivious to the fact that he'd just brought Minho’s heart to a complete stop mid-beat at the words. “I mean, he practically clings to you even when he's sleeping.” The boy pointed out in explanation, jabbing a finger toward the slumbering teen on the bed beside Minho with a small smirk playing on his pink lips.

Stiles wasn't wrong. Thomas had his fingers entwined loosely in the fabric of Minho’s shirt and had wiggled closer to the Asian in his sleep, a frown now playing on his cute little lips as Minho still had his body raised protectively over top of him rather than where he had been. The brunette had moved to the location the Keeper had been at moments ago and stretched slightly in his slumber in an attempt to reach the wolf in his raised position, a small whine escaping him when he was unable to do so.

“Do you know a single thing about mate bonds..?” Stiles quipped after a moment of silence in which Minho let his body fall back to the mattress and Thomas instantly squirmed up against him, sighing contentedly when he was able to wrap his lanky arms around the wolf and basically liquidizing the Asian’s heart for good.

“About what?” Minho practically yelped, flushing instantly and jumping slightly at the question, which earned a displeased groan from Thomas, as if the kid were unhappy his pillow couldn't seem to sit still for more than three seconds at a time.

“Uh huh. Yeah. That's what I thought.” Stiles hummed amusedly, grinning giddily as if he somehow enjoyed the torment he forced the wolf through as he leaned back on his heels and gripped the door in his hand. “I'll take you guys to see Deaton tomorrow. He's a good dude, should be able to help you.” The brunette declared easily and began to swing the door closed despite how confusing and full of unanswered questions his last sentence had been but abruptly he paused, looking distant and forlorn all of the sudden. 

“He seems to suffer a lot.” Stiles began slowly, his hazel eyes almost cloudy in a way as they locked on Thomas but Minho merely blinked in confusion before tentatively nodding, unsure of where this was going. “Just…” The boy continued through gritted teeth, as if struggling with something before awareness finally lit in his amber orbs once more. “Just be careful, okay?” Stiles finally concluded hastily but pushed the door the remainder of the way closed before Minho could even begin to think of a response to such an off and unexplainable statement.


	6. Ten

Warm sunlight filtered in through a small square window on the far side of the room, slightly diluted by pale blue curtains that hung over the glass in huge, sweeping folds and casting a welcoming glow over the scene. The soothing scent of Thomas, so familiar and intoxicating, filled Minho’s head and chased away any concerns that dared interrupt his momentary bliss and he unconsciously tugged the slumbering boy closer to himself, reveling in the warmth and weight of the younger male pressed against him. The sensation assured the wolf his mate was safe and happy, which was honestly such a incredibly uncommon occurrence that Minho would probably wear a tutu and pursue a life as a world famous ballerina if it meant he could see his Runner like this more often.

Minho snuggled in closer to the warm, snuggly brunette, too tired to deny his wolf nor really feeling the desire to do so at the moment as Thomas instinctually wormed further into the Keeper’s chest. The Asian found himself wistfully imagining this truly was their life, that sleepy mornings and soft beds were something they hadn’t been so cruelly robbed of and deprived the entirety of their youth. Minho closed his dark eyes and, just for the briefest of moments, let himself pretend that this is what their early hours always consisted of, waking tangled in one another’s arms and reaping comfort in each other’s presence. That they could be safe and happy.

Maybe, in that world, Minho would gently press his lips against Thomas’s, which had fallen open in the brunette’s slumber, and let them linger there until the other male would open his honey eyes and gift the gray, dismal world with one of his vibrant, perfect smiles, making the whole universe just that much brighter. Maybe, Minho would feel those perfect pink lips curl up against his own and Thomas would card his fingers through the Asian’s hair to pull him closer, letting his golden orbs fall closed once more as he kissed the wolf back and his already amazing scent would sweeten with the smell of happiness - And it would all be thanks to Minho. 

In this world, however, Thomas was woken, not by a passionate yet chaste kiss, but rather by Stiles bursting unceremoniously into the room with a still sizzling pan clasped in one hand and a pot of steaming coffee in the other, some of the dark liquid splattering to the pale carpet lining the hallway and leaving stains that would undoubtedly withstand a nuclear meltdown, let alone just the thorough bleaching that they would likely be subjected to.

“Rise and shine!” Stiles announced at least fifty decibels higher than Minho was prepared to endure this early in the morning, leaving a horrible ringing echoing through his head as Thomas groaned to life at his side and tried to bury his head further into the wolf’s muscled chest. Minho would slaughter to allow the smaller boy to stay nestled up against him, actually sleeping for once rather than screaming bloody murder, and Stiles was looking increasingly like the perfect sacrifice if that's what it took. 

Yeah. No. Bad idea. Minho wasn't looking to have his throat ripped out by some half crazed monstrosity driven by a justified bloodlust today, thank you very much. The Asian was only a Beta after all, and Stiles was an Alpha’s mate. 

“What?” Thomas groaned dazedly, honey eyes blinking up at Minho and full of a sleepy haze that made him look downright adorable by any sentient creature that possessed the sense of sight, especially the wolf propped over him who was practically biting his lip to refrain from cooing at the sight and laving the brunette's face with his tongue as he so badly wanted to.

“Stiles has so kindly graced us with his presence.” Minho informed his companion irritably, shooting a pointed glare at the unwanted intrusion that had so rudely woken his finally resting mate.

“And brought breakfast!” Stiles merely added enthusiastically, apparently blind to the werewolf’s irritation or, more likely, just choosing to ignore it as the boy held his items out as proof, practically beaming with pride.

“Dude, you didn't have to!” Thomas started quickly, snapping into awareness almost immediately and shooting up into a sitting position, painfully smacking his forehead into Minho’s as he did so before falling back to the bed with a startled yelp.

Minho groaned in pain, rubbing his battered skull momentarily before his wolf instantly became more concerned with Thomas, who let out a similar moan and squeezed his hazel eyes shut as Stiles laughed wildly somewhere in the background, practically inaudible to the werewolf’s selectively focused senses that were too preoccupied with the brunette on the bed to even notice anything else. 

“You’re a stupid shank, Thomas.” Minho huffed gruffly, glaring down at his companion in faux irritation as he spoke, swatting the teen over the head with an open palm and pretending to be a lot more irritated than he actually was. Secretly, the whole act was just a way to distract the Runner and ensure he wouldn't glance over at Minho’s arm - In which the veins happened to be turning an unhealthy shade of black at the moment. Even if his mate was only in the slightest amount of pain, his wolf was adamant the discomfort must be amended and the Asian had no qualms about pulling the small dosage of hurt from his favorite human, even if it did send a mild wave of ache through his own body.

Thomas stuck his tongue out defiantly at the older boy just as Minho pulled his arm away. Satisfied that the brunette was properly cared for, the Asian heaved himself up onto his elbows and rolled his dark eyes at his friend’s antics before pushing off the mattress, though he couldn't stop a light smirk from tugging his lips upward as he did so.

“Finally!” Stiles huffed exasperatedly before turning on a heel and retreating from the room, apparently convinced his companions would follow soon after. 

Thomas groaned and propped himself up onto his elbows, blinking as if trying to clear the sleepy haze lingering about him before his pink lips parted in a wide yawn that only left him looking more exhausted than before. “He really didn't have to make breakfast!” The teen whined to Minho, his voice keening up anxiously the moment his twin had departed and the sleepy boy reluctantly drug his lanky body from the sheets and plopped his feet onto the cold wooden floor below with a noise of displeasure. 

Immediately, the teen sprang back into the plush bed, the springs inside the fabric bouncing at his returned weight as the kid stared at the floor as if it had sexually harassed him, drawing back into the sheets and eyeing the floorboards with wide, startled orbs. 

“Yeah, well, he really didn’t need to wake you up either.” Minho retorted iritably but his displeasure fell way to an amused snicker at his bestie’s antics. “The floor is lava?” The Asian quipped snarkily, cocking one eyebrow and smirking at the brunette who merely flipped him the middle finger and made no moves to return to the ground, shuffling further away from the edge of the bed if nothing else. 

“It’s cold, slinthead!” Thomas hissed angrily, extending one, long leg over the mattress to poke a single toe against the wood, as if he expected the temperature to have magically changed in the past three minutes, which honestly wouldn’t have surprised Minho too awful much at this point. No, the Asian had long since stopped being surprised by anything. 

The wolf’s ability to be shocked dissipated sometime right after Thomas came up in the Box and Minho suddenly constantly found himself wanting to rub his body all over the other male while simultaneously running his tongue over the kid’s face to express his undying affections.

The second Thomas touched the digit to the floor below, he yelped dramatically and drew his limb back into himself before shuffling back further onto the mattress, casting his horrified gaze on Minho as if he were some kind of monstrosity, which he actually totally was but Thomas didn't know that. Hopefully.  

The Asian had just started to feel his own face in search of any protruding fangs, a feeling of dread coming to swallow him whole when Thomas finally yelped, “How are you barefoot right now?”  His voice full of disbelief and awe, apparently totally unaware that he’d just lopped three years off the Keeper life as his hazel orbs stared accusingly at Minho’s feet, as if they’d somehow offended him. 

“ ‘Cause some of us aren’t pony loving sissies!” The Asian groaned exasperatedly, running his hands over his face in a show of irritation and totally not to hide the fact that he’d just been searching his jaws for canine features.

“Yeah, well, some of us actually have feeling in our toes, Min!” Thomas bit back fiercely, still sounding totally thrown for a loop by the Asian’s ability to simply stand in a room that barely even felt chilly if you were asking the werewolf. 

_ He’s totally impressed with us.  _ Minho’s wolf practically preened, feelings of pride and satisfaction surging through the Asian boy despite his intense desire to roll his eyes at the simple things his wolf seemed just enthralled by. 

“So are you just gonna sit there and starve then, shank?” Minho teased with a smirk, snickering to himself slightly as Thomas seemed to consider this for a moment, his gentle features contorting into a thoughtful face, before the brunette merely groaned and flopped back onto the puffy mattress in defeat, sending a few folds of the tangled sheet drifting into the air momentarily before they came to fall back onto the boy.

“Woe is me! I shall wither away here, I suppose.” Thomas moaned dramatically, bringing his hand up to his face to press against his forehead in faux despair as he stretched his lean body over the blankets to communicate pure agony. “Oh cruel world!” The Runner wailed sarcastically, stretching an arm up to grasp desperately at air and arching his back off the mattress with the motion before he let everything go lax and collapsed back against the plush sheets, closing his eyes and making a comical “blech” sound of death.

Minho felt a warm laugh begin to rumble in his chest and bubble up through his parted lips for the first time in awhile and, god damn, did it feel good. The familiar surge of humor endorsed happiness and endorphins exploded in the Asian’s mind, momentarily numbing him to the cruelties of the universe as he wheezed in huge breaths only to lose them in poorly contained snickers once more as he practically doubled over.

What's more, was that Thomas had reopened his perfect, honey hazel orbs to watch the wolf, a look of awed fascination written across the brunette’s face as he propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look, leaving subtlety in the dust as a smile spread his own pink lips and a light giggle escaped him.

The endearing sound shoved a one way ticket to “you’re so fucked-ville” into Minho’s heart’s eager hands and it hopped the train without hesitation as its owner’s laughter was reignited by the small noise. 

Of course, Minho’s second round of breathless wheezes sent Thomas over the edge into his own fit of hysteria, as the younger male failed to smother his own snickers with a hand clasped over his pretty mouth. “What? It’s true!” The brunette protested defensively, though the words lacked any bite to them whatsoever as they were sporadically gasped out between poorly bit back giggles. “I could starve!” The teen informed the Asian curtly, attempting to shoot his friend a pointed glare only to lose the look to a wide grin almost instantly as his words caused Minho to laugh harder and the Keeper's  snickers started his Runner’s laughter all over again. 

“You’re so dramatic, Tomboy!” Minho groaned breathlessly, moving across the room to lightly shove the boy off his unstable, elbow propped perch, leaving Thomas to merely squeak out a useless protest as his body immediately flopped onto the bed with no resistance. 

“I’m totally serious!” Thomas countered angrily before the boy suddenly reached out and grabbed Minho by both sleeves, yanking him forward roughly and sending the Asian face first into the mattress with nothing but a startled “oomph” as he was caught off guard.

“Oh, you asked for it now, Tommy!” Minho growled deeply into the bedding, trying to keep the childlike excitement he felt welling up inside him from his voice as he sprang into action, shooting straight up before Thomas would even have a chance to process his declaration of war. 

The Asian barreled into the startled boy before the smaller male could even have an opportunity to defend himself, sending them both rolling as the attacked brunette regained his senses and struggled to try and fight back. 

Thomas managed to use the momentum of Minho’s charge to keep them rolling as the Asian tried to pin the Runner but was knocked ajar by the force of the wily teen turning with the already existing line of motion. The smaller boy took his chance the moment he got it, instincts nearly as sharp as his companion’s and reaction time just as high tuned as he tried to use the weight of his body to press the Keeper into the mattress in an attempt to stay on top, pressing his hands into the wolf’s chest and dropping the entirety of his body mass over the older male. 

It was adrenaline alone that kept Minho from simply letting himself loose this time, enjoying the feeling of Thomas’s body attop his far more than he probably should in their strictly platonic kinsmanship that his wolf had already all but abandoned, dragging Minho along with it for the ride. However, the Asian managed to convince himself to retaliate rather than focus on the fact that Thomas’s hips pressed his own flat into the mattress for a moment longer, too fearful morning wood would make a guest appearance if he didn’t do something (Unfortunately, probably not Thomas) quick.

Thomas may have been slick and clever, but when it came down to it Minho was of a more muscular build - and had supernatural strength on his side, though even he would admit that was an unfair advantage and really did attempt to restrain it during their play fights - so he could essentially overpower the younger boy no matter what the circumstances may be. Which was how the Asian managed to grip the pale, mole speckled muscles of his companion’s biceps and flip them easily in one, smooth motion, giving himself the upper hand once more.

But if Minho had been stupid enough to think for one, idiotic second that pinning Thomas to the bed would help alleviate his dick’s desire to rise up and join a revolution, he was so, unbelievably wrong. 

The Runner lay panting helpless under his hands, Minho’s fingers easily wrapping around the brunette's thin wrists to prevent any sudden ideas from entering his cunning thing’s little head and keep him in place better.  The boy’s cheeks were flushed rosy red with effort and his pale pink lips fell open to breathe in tiny, feverish gasps of air as he let his head fall back on the mattress in defeat, leaving his pale, mole speckled neck on full display. 

_ Bite. Claim.  _ **_Mine_ ** _. _ His wolf growled desperately, practically snarling the sporadic thoughts as Minho was driven wild by the display and accessible, submissive, position Thomas had let himself fall into, as if completely accepting the fact that he’d been defeated and wholeheartedly trusting the boy above him to not harm him even when in such a vulnerable pose. It was bad. The desire to leave his mark on the gorgeous, captured boy below him was so strong it felt as if someone had taken a torch to Minho’s body and lit his blood itself on fire and the Asian honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he suddenly burst into roaring flames on the spot. It felt like he already was. 

Truthfully, Minho probably would’ve given into the seering urge if it weren't for the sudden sour edge his precious mate’s scent took, instantly bringing his heat filled thoughts and steadily rising boner to an untimely demise as concern slashed through all else and brought the werewolf careening back to reality. 

Thomas’s eyes were wide and scared but yet so distant at the same time, as if the boy were somewhere, not safe on a bed under Minho who would rather die than hurt him, but someplace far worse. The acidic smell of fear tainted the younger teen’s sweet smell as he struggled weakly against the steely grip the Asian held him in, which the Keeper immediately released, that same musky scent the wolf still failed to place hitting him like a Mack truck. 

“I can’t!” Thomas pleaded desperately, leaving Minho confused as hell and absolutely terrified as he scrambled off the smaller male and frantically gripped the Runner’s forearms instead. The werewolf had assumed his companion had become upset because Minho had taken it too far, freaked his friend out or something similar the Asian was totally likely to do at some point, but it was quickly becoming apparent that wasn’t the case as Thomas let out a low wail and curled in on himself. 

“Thomas! Dude, please!” Minho cried anxiously, shaking the other male slightly in an attempt to bring him back to reality but it wasn’t working this time nor was talking to the teen doing any good. This wasn’t like last night where Minho could simply wake his friend from whatever nightmare he was trapped in and hold him close until he realized it wasn’t real, that all his visions were simply dreams, nothing more. Thomas was already awake.

“Show him your hands!” Stiles’s voice practically screamed in Minho’s ear, but the wolf still barely heard the confusing words over the panic induced ringing blaring through his skull and drowning out anything that wasn’t Thomas-related. 

When the fuck had the twin gotten there? Admittedly, with his focus rapt on the now trembling boy in his arms, Stiles could’ve probably stood by for hours, perhaps have time to paint a portrait of the scene, and Minho still wouldn’t have noticed his presence. 

The Asian always had been very single minded - Especially when it came to Thomas. Let’s not forget the multitude of times Minho had risked himself and quite often the whole group of remaining Gladers on impossible rescue missions on account of one boy when he could count the other’s deaths off like apples in a barrel.

“What?” Minho growled, literally, snarling at the kid, though he hadn’t intended to do so and would probably have the decency to feel bad about it later when the most important person in his life wasn’t lost to some imaginary horror and crying out a steady chant of “I can’t” in a desperate whimper that all but shredded the wolf’s heart. 

Stiles merely rolled his eyes and snatched Minho’s hand’s from Thomas’s arms, manhandling the appendages in front of his terrified twin’s face while the hand’s owner was still too shocked at the sudden action to do a single thing about it. “How many fingers?” The lanky boy questioned, his voice all but a gentle whisper as he pressed his thumbs into the palms of Minho’s hands to make them spread out, revealing all ten digits to Thomas’s confused eyes as their hazel orbs scanned the expanse of his friend’s spread hands.

“Ten.” Thomas eventually whimpered out, finally breaking his unrelenting chorus of “I can’t” to answer his brother’s odd question though he still looked confused and just as horrified as he had moments ago, convincing Minho Stiles’s plan was officially stupid, whatever it may be.

“Then he’s really here. You’re here. Safe.” Stiles explained, as if the number of fingers Minho owned somehow affected Thomas’s ability to realize he wasn’t in whatever mind wrecking memory he kept getting pulled into. “If you were somewhere else, just imagining all this, the number would be wrong.” Stiles continued and, amazingly, Thomas began to shake a little less, his hazel orbs wide and full of such a pure hopefulness that Minho physically hurt at the sight. “But there’s ten, so he’s real.” Stiles concluded, pushing Minho’s hands toward Thomas who tentatively reached out his own fingers until his twin placed Minho’s captured apandages into the kid’s steely grip and the brunette wrapped his own hands around them instantly, clinging to the Asian like a lifeline.  

“That used to be all that worked for me too.” Stiles finally admitted in a whisper after a long moment, giving Minho a sad look before he tentatively rose to his feet and moved back toward the door. “I’ll keep breakfast warm, just come down when you’re ready.” The teen informed diligently before taking his leave, pausing briefly to shoot the stunned Asian a quick, mock salute that the Keeper barely even saw out of the corner of his eye as his gaze locked on his broken mate. 

“Thomas.” Minho whispered quietly, not knowing what else to say as the boy lifted his head to blink at him, hazel orbs swimming with grief and guilt as the Asian reached out to brush a stray hair away from their endless depths.

“Minho, you shouldn’t have to put up with this.” Thomas bit back, sounding surprisingly bitter as he turned his gaze away and began gnawing anxiously at his lower lip, his usually alluring scent smothered with sadness and practically choked out with that musky note… That musky... 

Guilt. The smell was guilt. The realization finally came to Minho like a bowling ball straight to the stomach, thrown by a sasquatch that was. Thomas felt guilty for pushing his problems onto Minho as if that wasn’t exactly what the Asian was here for and would absolutely die to be the one Thomas went to with his burdens and leaned on for support. No, literally. Give him a knife - Minho would die for that opportunity in a heartbeat. 

“Shut the fuck up, Thomas.” Minho snorted roughly, though he emphasized the harsh words with a comforting squeeze of his hands, which were still captured in his companion’s unrelenting hold with the strength of a thousand manly, lumberjack commercial type men. 

Luckily, Thomas’s scent did lose some of its acid edge at the Keeper’s words, as if the other boy could read all the things Minho didn't know how to say as clear as day and it was all the Asian needed to feel proud. He would protect his mate and keep him safe no matter what, even if the threat was inside the brunette himself. Minho would be there to chase anything that threatened his boy away. Always.


	7. Breakfast at Last

“Breakfast?” Thomas prompted after a few moments, a light smirk beginning to tug at his pale, pink lips and simultaneously taking a wrecking ball through Minho’s ability to think straight. No, there would be no more thinking  _ straight  _ for him ever again if Thomas kept making cute faces like that, the boy had gone and ruined the Asian’s heterosexuality for life. 

“Fuck yes. I'm so hungry, I swear I would eat Frypan’s Mystery Stew right now!” Minho agreed eagerly, bouncing off the mattress and planting his feet on the supposedly chilly floorboards to find they still felt just as average as they did a moment ago. 

Perhaps Thomas was cold because he was too scrawny, it wasn't like the Grievers rolled up with five star entrees three times a day and came preprogrammed with a balanced meal plan to ensure the Gladers were getting all the proper nutrients - Not to worry though, Minho’s wolf was apparently a nurturing creature that had every intention of amending this unacceptable situation, considering a precise plan to stuff his mate full of the proper vitamins and minerals the teen had been deprived of had already formed itself inside the Asian’s head and it was taking every ounce of self control to keep him from running off to implement it this very second.

“God, Min. You truly are a desperate creature.” Thomas groaned ominously, looking ill and shuddering involuntarily at the mention of the horrible excuse of a meal Frypan had once presented the Gladers when supplies were low. The results of which had been a herd of groaning, hurling boys retching into sparse bushes and stumbling around the Glade in a sorta comatose daze for the rest of the night, Thomas included. (Minho had warned him... But did he listen? Nooo.)

The naive brunette had no idea... Desperate entailed constantly struggling with the desire to slam one’s best friend into the nearest wall and do ungodly things to his body with your mouth. To be desperate was to crave the feeling of that friend pinned underneath you, to want him to bare his neck for you and let you do whatever you felt like to him. To want some nasty ass soup…? That was not desperate. 

“Jesus fuck!” Thomas yelped dramatically, pulling Minho back from his musings as the brunette tried once more to exit the little boat of warmth the bed truly was only to be met with failure again, the icy wooden floor apparently proving to be an enemy to reckon with as the kid shuffled back from the edge of the mattress.

“Fine. Stay here and starve.” Minho joked teasingly, turning to stroll out of the room in a show of seriousness that he knew would irk his friend to no end when he was brought to a dead halt by the barely audible sound of Thomas’s stomach growling.

_ Oh my god. He's really starving! _ Wolfy concluded dramatically, alighting a panic inside Minho that the Runner logically knew was entirely unnecessary but found himself caught in the stomach twisting, iron grip of nevertheless as he whirled around and stomped back to the bed, helpless against the pull of his wolf’s protective instincts.

“Minh- Oh!” Thomas began only for the end of his companion’s name to come out as an uncouth yelp as the teen was suddenly scooped up by the older boy, one arm under his knees and the other supporting his back as the brunette gawked incredulously at his friend from his place in the Asian’s arms. 

“Can't have the only Runner I have left to Keep starve to death on me now, can I?” Minho scoffed indignantly, as if carrying pretty boys in his strong arms were simply part if his basic duties as a Keeper. Which it totally was, right? Yeah. Minho was just being a good Keeper -  _ And mate _ Wolfy so helpfully interjected.

“Hey, dude, if you wanna carry me around so my lazy ass never has to touch that frigid floor again, I sure ain't gonna fight you.” Thomas snickered excitedly, shifting about to find a more comfortable position in the wolf’s arms and in doing so squirming in a way that was doing a number on Minho’s ability to breathe like a normal human being.

“I outta drop your ass, Tomboy. Now quit squirming!” Minho scoffed irritably as he began to make his way across the room, moving far less awkwardly than he probably should for having a sixteen year old boy gathered up in his arms. It was as though the smaller teen were specially crafted to fit perfectly into the Asian’s arms despite how difficult it logically should be to lift a guy almost his age, a fact his wolf was currently silently gloating over.

“You wouldn’t!” Thomas informed surely, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly before continuing to wiggle about as if he were solely doing so to piss off the werewolf, the suspected sinister intent only verified by a coy smirk tugging lightly at the brunette's pink lips.

“Wouldn’t I?” Minho considered slyly, his voice taking on a conniving edge and his lips tugging upwards into a Cheshire Cat grin as he felt Thomas go stiff in his arms, the brunette obviously unsure of his own claim at the moment. Before the smaller boy could react to the warning however, the Asian let his grip on the kid go completely lax and let Thomas drop toward the ground without hesitation, robbing the younger teen of a chance to react. 

Thomas yelped sharply, obviously startled by the unexpected action and visibly going tense all over as he awaited the impending impact of the floorboards quickly flying up to meet him, hazel eyes squeezed shut tight in preparation for the expected pain. 

Which is probably why the Runner didn’t see Minho move swiftly to take advantage of his enhanced reflexes and snap his arms back under the boy in the nick of time, leaving not but a few inches of air between the brunette’s back and the ground below. “You’re right. I wouldn’t” The werewolf finally agreed casually, smirking wildly at Thomas as the teen slowly peaked open a single honey eye, the orb swimming with disbelief as he hesitantly uncurled himself from his tensed position and glanced about in confusion. 

“How in the everloving hell?” Thomas mumbled uncertainly as he immediately wormed his lanky arms around Minho’s neck lest the Asian tried to drop him again, not that Minho was complaining, the more Thomas clung to him, the happier both he and his wolf were. Oh no. It wasn’t just his wolf anymore, was it? Fuck. Minho was really starting to have it bad for this stupidly courageous, idiotically self-sacrificing, absolutely caring to a fault... Okay. He was just gonna stop now. This wasn’t helping. 

“You oughta know I’d never drop you, Thomas, you idiot shank.” Minho scoffed lightly in reply, marking off the kid’s bewilderment with feigned indifference. “You must be stupider than I thought if you really think I’d let anything happen to you.” The Keeper continued, keeping his voice casual despite the fact that he truly meant the words leaving his lips. Minho had been through hell and back with Thomas and had saved the boy’s ass more than once, just as the brunette had done for him. No way the Asian was going to let a single thing harm the other male now. 

“Yeah,” Thomas agreed after a moment, sounding genuinely relieved and smiling slightly as he spoke. “You’re a good Keeper, Minho.” The brunette informed confidently as they finally reached the other side of the room and Minho stepped them out into the carpeted hallway beyond the threshold of the doorway.

“Yeah, and you’re a heavy shank.” Minho teased snidely with a growing grin that was supposed to be a cool smirk but had been utterly demolished into an expression of joy at his companion’s words. “Get down.” Minho huffed in feigned annoyance as he slowly lowered Thomas’s legs until the kid’s feet were firmly planted on the beige fluff below and the wolf let his arms linger until he was absolutely sure his friend would stand on his own. 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just called me fat!”  Thomas wailed in a high, whiny voice that imitated a hormonal teenage girl's before snickering and scurrying away down the hallway, robbing Minho of a chance to make fun of the brunette for his horrible performance. 

“And I can’t believe I put up with you.” The Asian huffed exasperatedly before plodding down the hallway after his companion, walking with slow even steps that contrasted starkly with his friend’s overeager half-jog. The Asian watched Thomas make a sharp turn and bound down the wooden stairs they’d waited upon the night before, the teen taking them three at a time at the moment, apparently excited for breakfast as he quickly escaped the werewolf’s sight. 

Minho’s wolf urged him into a brisk speed walk, demanding that the Asian go catch up with his mate until he had Thomas safely in his sights once more and the human side of the boy agreed wholeheartedly. Until, something caught those dark eyes and drew Minho’s hurried strides to an abrupt and stumbling halt as the wolf forced his legs to lock into stillness and brought his body to a careening standstill. 

An old picture frame hung on the beige walls of the hall, slightly crooked in its wooden confines and poorly visible through the thick layer of dust settled over the glass. There wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy about it really and Minho wasn’t exactly sure why it had so readily captured his focus but he moved toward it anyway as if drawn to the antique looking object by invisible strings pulled taunt with the sheer force of it. 

Minho brushed a tentative hand against the layers of gray grime smothering out the image below, his fingers featherlight against the cool glass as if he half expected it to shatter into a million tiny pieces at the slightest touch. A few more swipes were necessary, each as delicate and uncertain as the last, but finally the picture was clear and the wolf drew in a sharp, startled breath at the sight of it.

The image was old and yellowing, visibly crinkled even in its frame but still as vivid as if it had just been taken yesterday. However, it was obviously not taken yesterday or any other day in the past few years if the words “Welcome Stephan and Mieczyslaw Stilinski” written across the top of the image in thick, bold sharpie lines were anything to go by. 

The picture was of a woman with long auburn hair flowing down over her shoulders lying in a hospital bed with a beaming smile across her lips. She looked exhausted but ecstatic, her glowing honey eyes alight with pure, elated joy that contrasted starkly with the dark circles underneath them. Those so very familiar hazel orbs, visibly brimming over with unshed tears, were fixed on two small bundles, each all wrapped up in light pastel blankets and clasped close to the woman’s heart as if they were the only thing that mattered in the world. 

“Minho? Are you coming?” Thomas quipped suddenly from the Asian’s side and Minho found himself practically throwing his own body over the image to shield it from the brunette’s view, earning a confused look and quirked eyebrow from the boy. 

“Yeah. Yeah. On my way, just got distracted.” Minho finally agreed after a moment, his heart pounding in his ears as he shot what he hoped was an easy smile at his companion but received only a higher quirked brow in response. Thomas apparently knew him too well to be fooled. 

“Min, if there’s anything you wanna talk about...  You know you can tell me, right?” Thomas began earnestly, honey eyes looking imploringly at the older boy who most certainly did not want to talk about anything. Actually, there were so many things Minho did NOT want to talk about with Thomas it was starting to get hard to keep track of them all and the ever growing list only seemed to be lengthening by the minute.

“Nah, let’s just get breakfast, yeah?” Minho tried casually, pushing a light hand against Thomas’s shoulder in an attempt to encourage the brunette to start making his way down the steps once more, unwilling to leave his spot pressed against the wall before the younger male was safely turned away.

“Yeah, alright, but get distracted again and I’m eating yours!” Thomas finally relented, looking hesitant but apparently understanding that the Asian didn’t want him to pry as he turned on a heel and retreated down the stairs again, Minho following on his heels this time. 

The wolf wasn’t exactly sure why he felt the need to hide the picture from his friend but, honestly, he was just tired of seeing Thomas hurt. It was an odd form of protection, but the image was only likely to make the brunette ache in ways Minho couldn’t alleviate him of so the wolf intended to shield his mate from it as long as possible.

The delicious, yet slightly sickening in its wonderfulness, scent of grease and meat hit Minho in a wave the moment he reached the bottom of the wooden stairwell, the smell crashing over his senses and making him want to run into the kitchen like the ravenous beast he truly was and gag until he hurled all in the same moment. 

More than anything, his wolf just wanted to stuff surplus amounts of the fatty shit into Thomas’s pretty mouth as quickly as possible, preferably by way of the werewolf's own teeth clasped around the slabs of meat. Wait, no, stop, that’s weird.That’s really fucking weird. Gods please help him. Please help him feed Thomas bacon with his mouth that was- No! 

“How did you boys sleep?” Sheriff Stilinski questioned as Minho finally trailed Thomas into the waiting kitchen, where the familiar, almost edging on nostalgic, smell of frying eggs and accompanying deep, harsh tones of brewing coffee joined the overpowering aroma lingering in the air.

The Gladers exchanged an brief, uncertain glance - Thomas looking slightly embarrassed and Minho wearing what he hoped was a comforting face as he brushed a soothing hand over the kid’s arm in an attempt to reassure him - before they answered. 

“Like a Griever.” Thomas responded gratefully, speaking the truthful statement in such a light, happy tone that it was only because Minho knew what a Griever even was that he was aware the confusing words meant the younger boy had slept like absolute shit.

“Good to hear!” The Sheriff replied eagerly, looking slightly bewildered but apparently choosing to go by his estranged son’s tone rather than try to decipher the actual meaning of the words. 

“Behold!” Stiles suddenly interjected, sweeping in with two plates clasped in his nimble fingers, each overflowing with a stunning display of, not only greasy decadence, but also healthy elements. Like, we're talking actual real, live, in the flesh vegetables here.

“Dude! You have to teach me how to cook some time!” Thomas gasped in an awed voice, honey eyes glinting with excitement and widening to the size of the plates his twin was currently slamming down onto the table.

Thomas cooking… Someone with a better understanding of the supernatural please tell Minho why the hell his wolf simply adored the idea. Probably had nothing to do with the images of his brunette happily moving around a kitchen in nothing but an apron, swaying his smooth hips as he hummed and actually having the chance to settle into some sort of normal life for once. Nah, nothing to do with that.

“I'm really not that good. I just picked up a few things since someone had to make sure Mr. I'm Gonna Clog My Arteries And Die Of Heart Disease At Age Fifty over here ate more than McDonald's 24/7.” Stiles replied bashfully, waving off the complement with a shy smile as the Gladers took their seats at the table and instantly began to tuck away the meal as if it would run away at a moment's notice.

“Not that good?” Minho questioned incredulously, a strip of bacon hanging from his mouth, clasped between his jaws and unfortunately not on its way to Thomas. “Dude, you gotta be kidding!” The Asian scoffed disbelievingly before immediately immersing himself in the meal once more before their host even had a chance to reply.

“Well, unfortunately, duty calls.” Sheriff Stilinski announced reluctantly, seeming genuinely perturbed as he rose from his own seat and began moving toward the door. “I tried to get the day off but someone's gotta train the new deputy.” The guy explained tiredly as he finally reached the door and grabbed his coat from a nearby hook. 

“Like Perish needs anymore training.” Stiles sniffed uninterestedly as he too rose from the table, taking his plate with him and shoving it into a compartment of some sort with a rack or two of other dishes already full.

“Don't worry about it.” Thomas reassured easily, shooting his father a comforting smile, just the briefest quirk of his pink lips upwards that still made Minho want to shove the comparatively disappointing meal off the table and replace it with the brunette's spread legs. 

“Yeah, go on. Imma take ‘em to meet the pack,” Stiles dismissed his father easily, apparently oblivious to the confused look Thomas was casting his way, the Runner’s hazel orbs swimming with curiosity more than anything else. 

Always so inquisitive rather than intimidated and fearful that boy was. Thomas never let intense warnings of unimaginable suffering and inevitable death deter him from anything, which was kinda the reason Minho was still alive at the moment actually. Thomas was curious to a fault and it was one of the things Minho loved most about him. 

Stiles finally glanced back at the table after Sheriff Stilinski gave a hesitant nod before eventually departing, leaving the three boys alone once more. The moment the kid turned his head he must’ve seen Thomas’s inquiring stare for the teen’s casual smile instantly slipped away to an equally bewildered look. 

Stiles moved his eyes toward Minho for the briefest of moments, the single look screaming “You didn't tell him?!” from the top of its nonexistent lungs but all the Asian could do was give a embarrassed nod and swallow uncertainly.

Minho was a coward to keep his best friend in the dark like this about what he truly was. The wolf knew that, but how could he risk losing Thomas now when every single other person he'd ever cared about had already been ripped away from him - Quite literally, usually involving snapping metallic claws and all. How could the teen tell the only one he had left that he was a monster? He couldn't. End of story. Send him a Crank riding a fucking Griever if you must, but Minho was not about to tell Thomas his secret 

“My friends I mean!” Stiles clarified hastily before forcing a painfully awkward laugh. “We use weird lingo sometimes, kinda an inside joke.” The boy continued easily all the while shooting Minho pointed glares whenever his brother happened to be glancing away, usually to greedily stuff more food into his mouth.

Thomas merely shrugged, jerking his shoulders upward distractedly as he seemed to have already lost interest in the conversation in favor of seeing if he could inhale three eggs in five seconds flat. 

“Dude! Breathe!” Stiles snorted amusedly. “It's not going to grow legs and run away, I promise! Unless you are on some hella good drugs in which case you should totally hook me up with your dealer.” The brunette continued with a snicker, smirking at Thomas’s slightly embarrassed expression. 

Minho understood. He and Thomas had never in their lives been given an opportunity to actually sit down and eat a decent meal that didn't consist of Frypan struggling to make due with what little supplies the Glade had or the constant threat that it was about to be ripped away. 

Too many a starving night had they endured, getting so bad at times that Minho actually had considered taking it as an excuse to suck Thomas’s dick (“Because obviously sperm had nutrients and they needed to be making good use of every ounce of edible material available. Duh. Now drop ‘em.”) Luckily the wolf had decided against it in the end, though it had admittedly been a pretty close thing.

Either way, dick sucking aside, stability wasn't really an entry in the Glader’s dictionary; and despite the fact that Minho did try to be the closest thing to consistency he could offer Thomas, the brunette probably felt the need to pack away as much food as possible before it was suddenly yanked away as it so often was. 

“Yeah, dude, slow down. I don't wanna see you puke.” Minho added playfully, though he honestly hoped Thomas actually listened because he kinda really didn't want to see his friend sick and suffering.

The Asian found himself reminded of the time Wicked had starved the Gladers for days on end before abruptly presenting them with surplus mountains of food ranging from vegetables, to pie, to kimchi, and everything in between. Tons of boys had gotten so excited by the sudden availability of actually edible food that they'd ended up overstuffing themselves to the point of barfing.

Not Thomas though. The Keeper had had to bring his hungry mate an apple as the kid had been napping when the shangri-la of gluttony had appeared out of thin air. However, the way the brunette had failed to respond to the wolf’s first few vain attempts to wake him had shaken Minho to the core. 

Thomas had looked dead. Remaining still and motionless despite Minho's frantic whispering and steadily increasing grip on the smaller boy’s pale arm. The brunette had never looked so small and fragile until that moment and it was then the Keeper realised the boy could be swept away from him as easily as sand whipped away by the winds of fate if Wicked so chose. Minho’s protective instincts really kicked in then, constantly demanding he never leave his breakable mate’s side ever again, but it had been the human in the Keeper that vowed to keep Thomas safe no matter what after that.

“Thanks, Daddy. I'll be careful.” Thomas countered in what was probably supposed to be an unamused, not erotic at all, way but even Stiles spit out the orange juice he'd been sipping, spraying neon, dye enhanced liquid all over the front of his shirt, so Minho didn't feel too bad about the filthy thoughts crowding his mind at the moment. 

Despite his stubborn reply, Thomas did in fact slow his mad dash to get every egg in existence into his mouth as quickly as possible and it was at least a good whole, three minutes before the brunette finished eating. Hey, it was improvement. 

However, now the Gladers both just stood in silent bewilderment before the contraption Stiles had stuck his plate into, neither one really wanting to speak up about the lack of knowledge they possessed and each casting questioning glances at one another as if hoping the other somehow knew more. 

Finally they both shrugged simultaneously and turned to cast their inquisitive gaze on Stiles who somehow seemed to have failed to notice the obvious lack of movement from either of his companions. 

The brunette was humming excitedly and shuffling around the table, gathering up dishware and doing an absolutely ridiculous head bob to music no one else could hear, looked to be pretty damn catchy though if Stiles’s interpretive dance was anything to go by. This went on for at least two solid minutes before the oblivious teen finally seemed to feel the Glader’s gaze upon him and whipped about to face their confused looks. 

“You didn’t see that.” Stiles asserted threateningly, squinting his eyes menacingly and pointing an accusatory finger at each male before they finally both nodded their agreement, though Minho was barely biting back a snicker and he could feel Thomas practically trembling with poorly contained snorts of amusement at his side. 

“You…” Stiles began slowly, relaxing once more and apparently taking a moment to evaluate the scene before him. “Don’t know how to work a dishwasher, do you?” The teen finally concluded skeptically, hazel eyes widening in realization as if this were something unheard of to his modernized ears.

“A what?” Minho stated blankly and Stiles was on the ground in a fit of snorts and giggles in two seconds flat, literally writhing on the floorboards in his hysteria before finally pulling himself back up and striding breathlessly over to the other boys.  

“Gimme these.” Stiles began mechanically plucking the two plates from his companions’ hands with one swift motion. “And stick ‘em in here.” The male continued monotonously, roughly stuffing the plates in between two identical platters where there was obviously no room for them to be yet he still somehow managed to wrangle them in the nonexistent space nevertheless. 

“Then slam this shut and voila!” Stiles concluded eagerly, slamming the wide, square door of the thing up and closed with a grand, overexaggerated sweep of his hand before twisting a small knob on the front of it. 

Minho may or may not have leapt back as the thing rumbled to life, grasping Thomas by the arms and pulling the smaller boy back with him and into his chest for protection as the thing groaned and began shaking as if horrible tormented spirits had suddenly taken residence inside of its sleek, dish eating bowels. 

What? Weird shit happened to Minho! It wasn’t that ludicrous of a fear really, nor when one felt the unignorable urge to bite anyone's fingers off if he or she made the mistake of brushing into his mate in a crowded street. The word unbelievable had already officially been removed from Minho’s dictionary long ago.

“Never speak of the whole singing while cleaning thing and I promise this never has to leave the room.” Stiles informed with a teasing smirk, eyes glinting with humor as he watched the two boys still eyeing his dishwasher as if it were a hellhound. 

“Deal.” Minho and Thomas each blurted simultaneously. 


	8. The Pack

Soon after, Minho and the two twins were all piled into Stiles’s robin egg blue Jeep and were rumbling along the crowded, suburban streets toward a small animal clinic at an ungodly slow pace. The whole, excruciatingly lengthy trip (Aka Minho’s first encounter with stoplights) the Asian pondered why a bunch of teenagers would ever choose a boring vet’s office as a place to meet. The teen had no earthly idea and actually laying eyes on the place did nothing to boost his enthusiasm.

Stiles pulled the rickety vehicle into a nearly empty parking lot in front of a small, lonesome building that only rose a little higher than the few trees lining the perimeter of the square little yard it sat in. The car spluttered to a whining halt over the cracked asphalt and came to rest halfway over a smudged, mostly rubbed away white line smeared across the black rock. The vet’s looked to be about as uninteresting as a place could get.

Thomas hopped out first, popping open the rusty door of the vehicle and pressing his shoulder into the cool metal to push it open, the thing moving reluctantly with a stubborn groan. The teen stumbled out of the car the moment he got the crack wide enough to slip his slim body through and came to stand a few paces from the car, apparently unwilling to go any farther without company.

“Kinda reminds me of a spastic child’s coloring book.” Minho whispered to his friend as the Asian pushed open his own practically unmoving door and came to stand beside the brunette.

“How so?” Thomas replied in a confused voice, apparently getting as much of a “welcome to boring as fuck town” vibe from the place as the wolf standing beside him. 

“You know how they only color the first few pages before they get bored and leave the rest of the whole five dollar book their parents shoulda known better than to buy blank?” Minho elaborated with an unimpressed snort, earning a poorly muffled giggle from his companion as the Runner nodded in understanding. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I know it looks like the lamest thing you’ve ever laid eyes on.” Stiles scoffed empathetically as he too finally exited the vehicle and began strolling towards the front of the small building. “And, I’m not gonna lie, it kinda is but Deaton likes it that way so who am I to judge?” The boy elaborated as he approached the door of the office and the Gladers trailed cautiously after him, keeping a few paces behind in their reluctance. 

“Who’s Deaton?” Thomas questioned hesitantly just before Stiles could open the door, the other teen’s fingers hanging still in the air as they hovered over the golden knob. 

“A friend.” Stiles merely answered after a moment of hesitation, looking unsure of how else to describe the man in question and giving the impression he himself didn’t really know how to label the dude.

Yay. More uncertainty. Surprise, surprise. Minho was so shocked

“Oh.” Thomas replied simply, leaning slightly against the Asian beside him as if weighed down by the unreassuring words of his brother and Minho couldn’t help but smile slightly at the thought of being the one Thomas trusted to support him. 

Stiles pulled open the door before anything else could be said and the harsh scent of the sterilized, medical environment wooshed out to swamp Minho’s senses, making the wolf want to recoil as he instead pushed himself forward, trying to be strong for Thomas.

“You’re late.” A gruff, unfortunately familiar voice declared and Derek Hale, king of the asshats, appeared in the doorway a moment later, reaching out a hand which Stiles took instantly and allowed himself to be pulled inside and into the muscled body of the Alpha. 

“Dude, by like, five minutes tops!” Stiles protested as the Gladers finally followed him inside and Minho pulled the door shut behind him.

“Stiles, you were supposed to be here a half hour ago.” Derek snorted grumpily, wearing a scowl that could kill but then his face softened as he ran a slow hand along the boy’s neck, cupping the brunette's face with his fingers just brushing the teen’s jaw bone to tilt his head upwards and Stiles leaned into the touch with a contented hum.

_ Scenting _ Minho’s wolf supplied a word for the action as the Asian let his dark eyes take in the scene in front of him, making sure to keep his body positioned slightly in front of Thomas until he was sure nothing existed in the space that may threaten his mate.

They were in a small room that looked much like one would expect it too, with a few tables set up towards the back and surplus amounts of modern medical equipment lining the walls and overflowing from marble counters. Machinery was installed here and there, overlooking the glistening metal tables and a few sparse doors lined the walls, indicative of other rooms existing in the complex.

However, unlike one would expect from your average clinic, there were a whole herd of high school aged teenagers crowded into the room as well.

A girl with long, fire colored hair leaned against the back counter, barely sparing them a momentary glance before flicking her uninterested gaze back to her phone and beginning to type rapidly, her obviously false nails clicking loudly against the glass screen with each press of a button. A boy with dark, untamed hair cut short, but not too short that it couldn't be styled into an stylized sideways swoosh sat atop one of the metal tables but pushed himself off of it with a slight hop when the newcomers entered, wearing a welcoming smile. A lanky blond boy who looked friendly enough sat on a swivel chair in the far corner but pushed his feet off a nearby wall to send the chair wheeling backwards toward the new arrivals, spinning so he faced them as he went.

Aside from the teens, there was a dark skinned man who looked to be about in his thirties and had a kind sort of feel to him, with his soft smile and relaxed demeanor almost putting Minho at ease, probably would've if the Asian weren't a traumatized lab rat that would sooner trust a literal snake.

“Scott McCall, captain of the lacrosse team and Stiles’s best friend.” The boy with dark hair introduced himself eagerly, apparently trying to give the new acquaintances some context as to who he actually was as he stuck out a hand for Minho to shake before passing it to Thomas as Stiles had done in the park the day before. It was obvious the guy was the leader of the group as the blond boy patiently waited for his introduction to be complete, wide, attentive eyes trained on Scott and the girl in the back had still failed to make a single gesture towards them.

“Minho, Keeper of the Runners.” Minho introduced automatically and it wasn't until after the words left his mouth that he stopped to consider their truth and it hurt. It wasn't true anymore. There was no Maze. No Runners.

“Thomas, a Runner.” Thomas interjected before Minho could open his mouth to take back the statement, the words feeling like a lie on the wolf’s lips until his companion opened his mouth and brought the Asian’s unspoken clarification to a premature halt.

Minho turned his gaze toward his friend questioningly only to receive a simple shrug and a small smile in response but it was more than enough. Minho would gladly still consider himself a Keeper as long as Thomas wanted to be his to keep. He only needed one Runner. 

“Isaac Lahey.” The blond boy who'd been quiet up until then finally spoke up, rising from his chair to offer his own hand to each of the boy’s before immediately plopping back down into his seat and swiveling around like a bored child whose parent was taking too long in the grocery store.

“And I guess that leaves you to be the infamous Deaton.” Minho inquired of the man who was yet to speak but had begun walking towards them as all the exchanges took place. 

“I wouldn't say infamous!” The man chuckled softly but nodded in confirmation of the Asian’s guess. “I run the Vet’s office and try to act as a sorta counselor to this rowdy bunch here since I've known Scott for a long time.” The man continued warmly, his voice smooth and comforting in its surety. “So, now that you're one of us, please come to me whenever you need help,” Deaton explained fluidly, but then his gaze locked directly with Minho and turned intense for the briefest of moments. “Of any kind.” The guy concluded meaningfully and in that moment Minho was certain this man knew his secret but somehow the wolf was unafraid.

“One of us? You barely know us.” Thomas joked lightly but anyone would have to be a fool to miss the note of hope brimming in his voice and the warm, sweet smell of the dangerous emotion fogged Minho’s senses to the point that he really wished Isaac would offer him that chair before the wolf collapsed like the weak kneed mess of emotions Thomas somehow turned him into - Maybe the brunette was supernatural and his only known power was annihilating Minho’s ability to function like a normal human being.

“You’re Stiles’s twin brother, man.” Scott snickered lightly as if that simple fact made up for years worth of bonding and trust building. 

“I actually met you once when you were a baby but you were so young, you wouldn't remember me.” Deaton added helpfully and Minho winced because, dude, Thomas didn't remember anything past a few months ago. (A few months? Had it really only been that long?) 

Minho bit his lip uncertainly, suddenly feeling like a tag-along in the company of these people who were obviously more attached to their friend’s twin than some random Asian kid the brunette had decided to drag along. Thomas was family to their packmate, it was only natural that they’d accept the boy without hesitation, pure instinct overruling logical consideration. 

Minho wasn’t family. Minho wasn’t pack. Why then did his oblivious wolf seem so drawn to these people he’d never even met as if they were his closest friends?

Thomas’s lithe fingers brushed against Minho’s hand and drew him out of his musings and into reality as the brunette moved them farther into the room, introductions dealt with and the time for them to stand awkwardly in the doorway like outsiders over. The slight whisper of a caress sent sparks over the Keeper’s skin, his heart tugging in his chest at the contact as if yanked by fiber wire cords attached to the younger male and in that moment Minho felt the connection to the other kids standing around the room as if it were a tangible spider web weaving the occupants to him in a series of complex, overlapping threads that tied around the Asian and kept him captive. 

His mate’s pack. His pack. It was that simple. 

“Minho, could you come help me with something in that room over there?” Deaton asked abruptly, shooting the boy in question a meaningful look before smiling comfortingly and striding over to the nearest doorway without waiting for the teen to reply. 

“Uh, sure.” Minho stuttered out reluctantly, though it didn’t look as though his reply much mattered, considering the vet had already disappeared into an adjacent room. The only explanation, aside from the guy being a mind reader that was, (Hey, Minho wasn’t ruling anything out) was that Stiles must’ve contacted the man already and informed him of the wolf’s lack of knowledge about literally anything aside from the best running techniques and how to let all your friends die at the hands of an evil government. Well, that and how to protect one small brunette boy; Minho was admittedly doing that pretty well and was quite proud of it, thank you very much. 

Thomas looked startled at the unexpected occurrence, honey eyes widening and lithe body pressing closer to Minho momentarily as the Asian began to move away to follow Mr. Mysterious into the Twilight Zone, as if the thought of being separated from the wolf made the younger boy uncomfortable.

“How many times do I gotta tell you? Quit worrying, Tomboy.” Minho assured softly, squeezing the brunette's shoulder comfortingly and letting his hand linger on the boy for a  moment longer than a straight friend probably would've but he decided no to worry about that at the moment, soothing his mate was more important than preserving his mask of ungayishness.

The acidic note of anxiety that had soured the Runner’s honey scent lessened slightly at the contact and Minho finally let his hand fall away from the boy to turn and follow Deaton through the door he’d disappeared into moments ago, not really wanting to leave Thomas but desperately in need of someone who could tell him what the everloving fuck was going on with him and these weird urges to dry hump his best friend until they both came in their pants like the overeager teenagers they really were. 

“Stiles tells me you’ve been having some problems.” Deaton began as Minho entered the room because obviously modern day had some way for nosy brunettes to get a hold of mysterious all knowing men instantly. Great.

Minho pulled the door shut behind him and looked around to find himself in a room that was relatively empty, save for a large oak desk taking up most of the floor space and a few grey file cabinets lining the white painted walls of the tiny area - Absolutely nothing in the entire complex appeared noteworthy whatsoever. 

“Yeah, I’d say so.” Minho scoffed snarkily, not really meaning to sound like a total dick but so used to using sarcasm as a defense that it was only natural at this point. “If you consider wanting to rub myself against my best friend until he smells like me a problem that is.” The wolf continued exasperatedly, running his hands uneasily through his dark hair as he spoke and leaving subtlety miles behind him, already too exhausted from hiding to do so any longer.

“Do you consider it a problem?” Deaton inquired evenly, keeping his voice devoid of emotion and smooth as silk as he examined Minho through intense eyes, as if trying to analyze the wolf with vision alone. Maybe he was some kind of gypsy mind reader, it's not like Mr. My Wolf Has Decided My Bestie Is Its One True Love would be surprised.

“I,” Minho immediately opened his mouth to declare that yes, this was absolutely a huge fucking problem but the words wouldn’t come out and the werewolf paused thoughtfully. Did he consider it a problem? The Asian thought he did but then again… Maybe it was more the fact that there was no way in Earth, Heaven, Hell, or California that Thomas wanted that too. 

“I don’t know.” Minho finally concluded dejectedly, feeling odd letting himself be so open with a man he knew nothing about but Deaton was his only shot at getting some actual information. Besides, the guy kinda reminded Minho of what a high school counselor might be like, he made the wolf want to talk. 

“Uh huh.” Deaton nodded in understanding, looking thoughtful yet lacking the medical detachedness the wicked scientists had always presented when evaluating their subjects. It made Minho feel like less of an experiment to be poked, prodded, and analyzed and more like a teenage boy with problems someone wanted to help him work out. 

“Minho, do you know how werewolves choose mates?” Deaton began carefully, putting his hands together and rising from where he’d been leaning against the far wall to begin pacing around the small room instead, winding around a few boxes of unsorted papers as he went and nearly tripping over them more than once.

“Isn’t it like, pre-determined? A soulmate kinda thing?” Minho questioned uncertainly, going solely off what hazey knowledge of fairy tales still existed in his stripped memory and trying to picture the stories he dimly remembered in his mind. It was odd, he remembered the tales themselves, but could not, for the life of him, begin to imagine what the person who read them to him might look like, couldn't even grasp what their voice had sounded like reading off those words from the storybooks of his youth.

“It starts out like that, yes, but just being genetically attracted to someone doesn’t make you their mate.” Deaton clarified empathetically, keeping his voice soft and kind to sooth the anxious werewolf shifting about uncomfortably at the topic. “Someone may be your true mate and be an unbearable person that you want nothing to do with.” The guy went on evenly. “You have to actually love the person for who they are, not who your biology thinks they should be.” Deaton declared quietly.

“Then they’re your mate?” Minho inquired carefully, getting a nagging feeling that he should already know this but unable to connect the broken pieces of his destroyed memory this conversation began to prod at. The wolf was, however, able to conjure up a few images from the words leaving Deaton’s mouth, just brief flashes of his absent history that stirred something deep in his core and sent waves of untold longing through his senses. 

_ Hands pulling him into dark corridors when the scientists weren't watching. _

_ Long fingers brushing against the sides of his face, featherlight against his cheek bones. _

“No. They have to want you too.” Deaton informed cautiously, looking as if he were trying to choose every word precisely. 

_ Soft lips ghosting against his own, sending fire through his veins, volcanoes erupting in his skull. _

_ Scientists pulling him away, ripping him from clawing fingers. Tears pouring from honey eyes and soft whispered promises spilling from pink lips. _

“The bond must be sealed.” Deaton finally finished, a note of finality to his words that sounded like someone driving the last nail through a coffin. 

_ “I’ll find you.” _

_ “Don’t forget.” _

_ “Remember.” _

_ “Remember that I love you.”  _

“You’re telling me that Thomas and I were…” Minho began but trailed off, unable to find the right words. “Something before?” The wolf finally clarified in an uncharacteristically shaky voice, hating how vulnerable he sounded even to his own ears but he couldn’t worry about any of that now. He’d promised. He’d promised he wouldn’t forget and he had. When he’d told Thomas to remember that he loved him in Denver it had been his own fucking subconscious trying to remind Minho what a fucktard he was for forgetting.

Deaton merely nodded solemnly, assuring Minho that he was one hundred percent, entirely and completely totally fucked. 

But that was okay because now Minho remembered. 

Minho remembered that he loved Thomas and he would never forget again. He’d sooner die.


	9. A Bumpy Ride

When Minho came back out of Deaton’s unofficial inquisition chamber the wolf felt a lot better than someone who'd just been told he was basically eternally bound to a boy who would never remember making such a commitment should. There was a time where Thomas and he were in love and happy together and there was absolutely no reason that couldn't happen again, especially now that Minho  _ remembered  _ it so the teen really saw no reason to be distraught.

Well, there was that and the fact that the Asian walked out to a scene he would've thought impossible just a few short weeks ago.  

Thomas was practically beaming and totally absorbed in a conversation with the blond Isaac kid about the emotional benefits of eating chocolate ice cream  on a daily basis. Scott and Stiles were also in on the conversation, though they were making a strong argument that vanilla was the true answer and even the flame haired girl had put down her phone to throw in the opinion that frozen yogurt was the true king of the cold treat world. 

“I can’t argue that, I've never had frozen yogurt.” Thomas replied breathlessly, as though he'd been laughing, and his declaration earned a huge, collective gasp of untold horror from the room.

“Hey, pup, Deaton teach you how to keep it in your pants?” Derek scoffed suddenly, causing Minho to jump slightly as the guy's voice sounded from directly beside him. 

“I don't know, did your mom teach you not to sneak up on people like a fucking creeper?” Minho snorted bitterly, squaring his shoulders and trying to act as if he hadn't just startled like a newborn bunny come face to face with a viper.

“My mom is dead.” Derek stated flatley, obviously going for shock value since Minho seriously doubted the guy was trying to have deep, heartfelt discussion with him but the Asian merely grunted in response.

“Mine too.” The Asian countered dryly, keeping his gaze locked forward, refusing to let this asshole see any emotion that may be visible in his eyes.

“Theirs too.” Derek replied blankly, taking Minho off guard as he expected literally anything else to leave this guy's mouth.

“How?” Minho questioned softly, a pang of hurt coursing through him as it was obvious Derek was talking about the twins, the wolf had no reason to be talking about anyone else. 

“Flare.” Derek answered simply, voice carefully void of emotion though Minho did catch the slight sour edge of sadness that emanated from the guy. 

Minho opened his mouth to reply but Thomas, who had somehow won the wheeled chair away from Isaac, suddenly noticed his presence and rolled over to him, kicking out a leg and propping himself up on the headrest so the chair rolled backward while Thomas faced him.

“Min, I wanna buy fifty wheelychairs.” Thomas informed the Asian excitedly, the chair in question rolling onwards until it bumped against the wolf’s leg and was brought to a halt by the dude’s thighs of steel.

“Can’t we settle for like, forty two wheelychairs?”Minho joked with a roll of his dark eyes but Thomas merely shook his head adamantly and scooted to the side of the cushion, patting the area he’d emptied until Minho sat down beside him. 

“Did y’all hear that there’s a fair in town tonight?” Stiles quipped interestedly, coming to lean against Derek, who in turn instantly wound his arms around the younger boy and tugged the kid closer, looking a little less like he wanted to kill everyone in the room at the contact.

“A fair?” Thomas whispered softly so only Minho could hear, leaning in and breathing  the words directly into the wolf’s ear, sounding confused and curious, which seemed to pretty much be the default Thomas emotions at this point. 

Minho simply shrugged in response, having no clue what the other kids were talking about nor really caring at the moment. Minho could possess the world’s largest information base on fairs and would still probably fail to know what they even were at the moment as Thomas’s knee bumped against his and pushed down a dynamite lever in the Asian’s mind. He was so fucking weak when it came to this boy. 

“Yeah! You guys wanna go?” Scott questioned eagerly, casting his excited gaze around the room, letting it rest on each, individual person until they nodded their agreement before he finally let his orbs fall on the Gladers in their shared seat. 

Thomas looked excited, honey eyes wide and sparkling with interest so Minho really didn’t even bother to hesitate before replying “Yeah, for sure!”

“Nice, we can head out now since meet and greet is out of the way.” Stiles suggested eagerly, threading his fingers with Derek’s as if nonverbally declaring the brooding wolf would be going with them and excitedly began tugging the alpha persistently toward the front door before the guy could protest.

Thomas pressed a hand against Minho’s muscled thigh to push himself up from the chair and Minho of course felt his entire body flush at the touch because pride was basically trampled whenever it came to the adorable brunette who somehow had absolutely no clue what he did to the lovestruck wolf. 

“I hope they know we’ve got no fucking clue what a fair is.” Thomas hissed in Minho’s ear, standing on his tiptoes to whisper to the wolf after the Asian rose to a standing position and began to follow Stiles and his tag along storm cloud out of the clinic.  

“Probably a place to perform the ritualistic sacrifice needed to initiate us into their inner circle.” Minho scoffed amusedly, bumping his shoulder lightly against the other boy’s in an attempt to reassure him. Hopefully, the small gesture communicated what the wolf meant it to: I'll be there.

Minho would always be there. Whether it be a monstrosity beyond the shit of nightmares or the horror of awkward small talk - Minho would always have his friend’s back and would ensure the brunette faced nothing alone. Ever. 

They ended up back in Stiles’s Jeep, though now the layout consisted of Minho, Thomas, and Isaac all squished together in the back and Scott ready to fight tooth and nail with anyone who dare try to steal the passenger seat from him (Minho had seen Isaac try - It didn't end well.)

“What's your favorite ride?” Isaac asked excitedly, supposedly questioning the whole Jeep and oblivious to the fact that forty percent of the occupants would have no idea how to answer that question.

“Roller coasters are definitely the best!” Stiles declared surely. “I heard the one they've got here has a jump and everything!” The brunette added enthusiastically but Isaac visibly shuddered.

“No thanks, I think I'll stick with the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Scrambler.” Isaac replied resolutely with a pitying shake of his head. “I'm not really in the mood for high thrills. I've got enough of that in my day to day life already.” The blond groaned unhappily, looking as queasy as if he'd just gotten off the stomach twisting rides he'd spoken of.

“Where do you stand, Scotty?” Stiles quipped excitedly. “Im totally right, right? High dives over kiddy rides any day, man.” The brunette pressed eagerly as the vehicle finally made its way out of the residential section of the town and was able to speed up slightly on the more open roads.

“I actually prefer the games.” Scott informed with a casual shrug, earning appalled gasps from both Stiles and Isaac alike.

“Those things just take your money!” Stiles scolded disapprovingly, shaking a finger at his companion.

“You never actually win anything!” Isaac added pointedly, sounding bitter and clearly expressing this was something that he himself had struggled with in the past.

“Not if you're good at them!” Scott countered defensively, crossing his arms and smirking slightly as Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes.

“That's cheating.” Their driver deadpanned dryly but did an absolutely horrible job of hiding the obvious note of envy in his voice.

“Get Derek to win you something, he could do it.” Isaac suggested helpfully, leaning up over the consul and almost across Thomas, who occupied the middle seat, in the process. 

“Just because he could doesn't mean he would.” Stiles huffed dejectedly, obviously wanting that but somehow under the impression it wasn't going to happen.

Minho didn't bother to listen as he instead flashed his eyes threateningly at the blond boy before he could stop himself, barely able to bite back a growl as the kid got far too close to his mate for the wolf’s liking. The Asian stretched an arm out over Thomas’s chest to press him back slightly into the seat in an attempt to move the smaller boy away from the blond dude and put himself between his friend and the intrusive person as much as he could. 

“He totally would.” Scott replied easily, stating it as a simple fact that one just couldn't argue with but Minho still wasn't paying attention, remaining single mindedly focused on guarding his precious mate and glowering at the guy who had dared get too close. 

Isaac, however, merely blinked at Minho, seeming to process the display with a hint of amusement glinting in his blue eyes before he slumped back into his own seat with a shrug, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. 

Thomas seemed to miss all of this, however, as the brunette suddenly gripped Minho’s arm and shook the wolf slightly, pointing wordlessly out the side window and letting his pink lips fall agape.

Minho's first thought was that something dangerous had appeared and he immediately shifted himself between his companion and the window lest something come bursting through to try and rip the brunette away from him but, upon closer consideration Thomas didn't appear scared.The boy’s honey eyes were wide but were void of concern and rather were brimming with entranced wonder and awe as his scent exploded with the enticing aroma of excitement. 

God, Minho would love to make Thomas smell that way for other reasons, he could show the boy some real excitement - Oh Jesus fuck, please calm down. Isaac and Scott were definitely gonna be able to smell his arousal from a mile off if he didn't get this shit under control… Under control. Thomas under his control. Pinned, letting him control, letting him bite and - STOP. Stop it right now.

Scott was snickering. Isaac was doing a better job at hiding his giggles but they were still there. Fuck Minho’s entire life.

To distract himself from his humiliation and growing, totally-not-Thomas-induced erection Minho turned to see what had caught his friend’s attention and immediately felt the same amazement he loved scenting from Thomas swamp himself as he caught sight of what must be the fair.

Flashing lights. Like, a fuck ton of flashing lights was primarily what Minho was getting from the place. All twirling on huge pieces of machinery and blinking sporadic rhythms that spiked the werewolf’s adrenaline and stirred the almost foreign feeling of excitement in his guts just looking at them. 

Stiles pulled the Jeep into an already overcrowded parking lot with naught but a few empty spaces left to fill and merely a few seconds later the familiar Camaro parked beside it, the engine of the thing roaring obnoxiously in a way that made Minho want to recoil but sparked a sharp note of arousal from Stiles’s scent. Gross. 

Thomas was apparently extremely over eager to go explore the insane new venue for he scrambled into Minho’s lap in an attempt to escape the confines of the vehicle immediately. The brunette struggled with the crappy door of the car, one hand fighting with the plastic handle while the other unfortunately (Okay, maybe it wasn't so unfortunate but Minho would like to think it was, alright?) braced itself between the wolf’s legs for leverage.

_ Hm, _ said Minho’s lungs.  _ Who needs to breathe? Not us! _

Minho had just got the stubborn organs into action once more, though his inhales were admittedly shaky and uneven as Thomas was in his fucking lap and his sweet smell, blooming with excitement, flooded the wolf's senses and, oh, need I say it again? Thomas. Was. In. His. Fucking. Lap.

However, all his hard work was laid to ruin as Thomas pushed hard against the door, throwing his entire weight (all of his whole maybe one hundred pounds - Minho really needed to force more food down his throat and maybe other things too - No.) against the metal frame. Of course, the brunette slipped, because why would life ever be easy for Minho? 

Thomas’s fruitless push against the door did nothing as his hands were swept out from under him at the action and the momentum sent him flying into a full body faceplant right into Minho’s spread legs. So much for smothering out that arousal, buddy.

Thomas yelped in surprise as he lost control of his body and his face collided with the course material of his friend’s jeans, all flailing limbs and uncoordinated attempt to stop the fall that did absolutely nothing expect maybe clip his companion in the jaw.

Minho yelped louder though, that was for fucking sure and unlike Thomas’s sound, the wolf's ended in a far too wanton groan but that was probably due to the fact that his friend didn't have the object of his desire’s face buried in his crotch. Understandable. 

“Fuck. Sorry, dude.” Thomas gasped, the air obviously knocked out of his lungs from the fall and not stolen from him for any other reason whatsoever. Probably. 

But oh no. Thomas should definitely stop talking - Or keep talking - Because Minho could feel his hot, breathless words through the now uncomfortable material of his pants and thank the gods Thomas couldn't see his face because the wolf knew for a fact that his eyes were lighting up like the Aurora Borealis at the moment.

“Don't worry about it.” Minho croaked scratchily, fighting his every instinct that urged him to lightly tug at those brown locks of hair and praise his perfect mate for doing such a good job until - This is not how you keep a tent down, Minho. Control yourself for five minutes please. You can do this - And no, by “this” I do not mean Thomas. 

Finally, Thomas braced a hand on each of Minho’s thighs and pushed himself upright. 

Minho should be relieved, really, but it turned out this wasn't actually much better because now the brunette was practically straddling the wolf and his pretty face was all of two inches away from the Asian's, not to mention flushed in such a way that Minho just wanted to throw him over the middle consul and do things Stiles would probably not appreciate being done in his car. 

This would all be fine, except that Thomas wasn't moving immediately and Minho’s self control was being blown away by a tornado of teenage hormones more and more with each passing moment. Maybe the Runner was still dazed from his fall, maybe he had caught Minho’s horrible attempt to hide his revolting dick that had decided to rise up against him in all senses of the word and was too shocked to move; either way, the boy made no indication that he planned on leaving right off the bat. 

“Sorry.” Thomas mumbled again after a few seconds in which Minho could have probably spontaneously combusted at any given time - Whether that meant creaming his jeans or literally exploding on the spot, the Asian wasn't quite sure, nor was he really positive there was any actual difference between the two with Thomas perched in his lap. 

Finally, the kid scrambled backwards off the stunned Keeper, who was really too lost in his own silent mantra of “Don't fuck your best friend, don't fuck your best friend…” to react for a minute or so but finally shook himself out of his own head and popped the door open with significantly less difficulty than his companion.

“Dude, do you have like, supernatural strength or something?” Thomas inquired jealously as the door swung open with ease and the brunette proceeded to scramble over Minho once more as if nothing had gone wrong the last time. 

“No!” Minho startled defensively, internally punching himself in the nose for reacting so suspiciously but with the open door came an influx of sound that seemed to have captivated his companion’s attention.

Music blared, children screamed, announcers screeched into their microphones at the top of their lungs and left Minho to wonder why they'd even bothered with microphones to begin with. 

Besides that, there was the smell. Minho was sure even a human would be overwhelmed by the horrible symphony of scents colliding in his nostrils at the moment. Grease popping in a fryer, the sickeningly sweet aroma of sticky sugar, buttery popcorn, all over an underlying tone of vomit that made the wolf want to hurl before getting on a single ride.

“We’re a long way from the Glade.” Thomas mumbled softly, suddenly seeming intimidated by the display as he finally crawled over Minho and planted his feet on the earth outside. 

Minho merely grunted in agreement and pulled his body reluctantly out of the vehicle, feeling displaced as he gazed around and saw the rest of the gathered group looking entirely unbothered by the overwhelming situation at all. 

Isaac was already bounding speedily away towards the large, chain link front gate, the fire haired girl Minho still hadn't caught the name of on his heels, though trailing much slower and obviously trying to look uninterested. 

Gathered around the car still stood Stiles, who looked just as eager as his already departed companions as a childlike excitement blazed in his hazel orbs and he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. The kid was pulling at ever stoic Derek’s sleeve but the Alpha was leaned over so Scott could whisper something to him, preventing the broody guy from giving in to Stiles’s fruitless yet persistent tugs.

“I'm glad you're here, Minho.” Thomas whispered so soft that even the wolf with his highly attuned hearing almost missed it but the quiet words still blew his fragile heart to smithereens. Oh yeah, he was fucked. Thomas never got any less endearing. Shit.

“Me too.” Minho replied in a whisper and, feeling brave, let his fingers ghost against Thomas’s hand, feeling the boy’s digits twitch in response. It was a small caress, not quite romantic, but an admittance of reliance on both sides. 

They were far from everything they had ever known and the world they once believed in was gone - But they didn't need that to be home. They had each other. Thomas was Minho’s home. Minho was Thomas’s home. The other’s presence was the only stability they'd ever know and they could do this, wherever they were, as long as they were together. 

“Hey, Derek, slow down!” Stiles yelped suddenly, jarring Minho from his soft moment as he turned to see the brunette being tugged along by the Alpha. “What are you doing?” The younger boy tried again, jogging to keep up with the guy that held his smaller hand clasped tightly in his own.

“Going to win you some shit.” Derek huffed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and the rest of the group ran after the pair, following them into the steel gate and walking after them into the luminescent light show that was the fair.


	10. Is It Motion Sickness or Love Sickness Making Me Wanna Hurl Right Now?

They were on the Tilt-A-Whirl with Isaac for the third time that night, the spinning cart throwing Thomas’s lithe body careening into Minho’s in a way that the wolf probably would’ve really enjoyed if the minor pressure on his stomach didn’t nearly push him over the edge and quite nearly make him lose today’s, yesterday’s, and tomorrow’s lunches, when Minho finally convinced Thomas to try some of the more mild rides.

“So what I’m hearing is that you don’t wanna ride the Hurltron 3000 next?” Thomas clarified reluctantly after the pair finally stumbled off the torture device disguised as a child’s amusement park ride and left Isaac to scramble in line for what had to be the seventieth time that night. 

“No.” Minho moaned in utter agony, clutching his already sloshing stomach at the mere mention of such a horrible sounding ride and trying his best to focus on the still grass beneath his feet rather than the Tilt-A-Whirl beginning to roll into another round of twirling torment behind him. 

“Fine. Fine. How about the ferris wheel? That shouldn't be too bad, right?” Thomas offered helpfully, pointing a finger at the huge ride in question, the thing being the tallest item in the whole fair by far and overlooking the other amusements with an almost benevolent feel about it. 

“Yes.” Minho huffed out gratefully, unable to produce more than simplistic one word answers in his current ill state but Thomas seemed to understand, pushing a shoulder against the Asian’s side to offer some support as the brunette began guiding them toward the enormous ride. 

The line for the thing was surprisingly short but it still gave Minho just enough time to recover from his earlier nausea inducing experience enough to actually take in his surroundings somewhat. The wheel itself was huge, reminding him of the Maze walls in its enormity and giving him the impression that maybe that stone prison wouldn’t have seemed so bad if they’d decorated it in technicolor strobe lights like this ride was smothered with. The colorful things flashed on and off in rhythmic patterns that changed color every few seconds to create images across the wheel, swirling, blinking spirals and exploding fireworks of radiance dancing along to a calliopy tune. 

However, it was not the ride itself that caught Minho’s attention so much as the scene below it. As the wolf, still leaning slightly against his companion even if he really didn’t need to so much anymore, moved up to come to the front of the line he became increasingly aware that the only people getting on this ride were couples. Young girls giggled interestedly at boys’ crappy jokes as their hands shyly brushed and their faces flushed to match the red of the neon lights, the blush almost hidden by the darkening sky but not quite enough to let it be missed. Two girls in line right before the Gladers clasped hands tightly as the ride operator slammed the door of their cart closed and moved back to put the machine in motion. 

And here Minho stood with the oblivious boy he’d been pining after for months, still just as unaware of the Asian’s feelings as always and totally unobservant of the obvious awkwardity of their decision to get on a ferris wheel together. Yippee.

The ride conductor turned his back to the boys and flicked a few buttons before the metallic grinding of machinery rumbling to life could be heard and the wheel began to turn slowly and with purpose. The mechanical sounds reminded Minho of a Griever but the Asian quickly pushed the dismal thought away with a slight shudder as a new cart rolled into place and a couple hopped out, each wearing goofy smiles and staring at one another with the blind adoration of young love as they stumbled away from the ride. 

“That’ll be six tickets.” A familiar nasally voice informed as the ride operator turned around to face them and Minho recognized none other than the annoying brat who ran the ice cream stand in the park, though it was hard to recognize much of anything through the thick layer of acne still smothering the pubescent boy’s unfortunate face. 

Minho ripped off the given number from the long, winding strand of small blue tickets they’d purchased upon entering the fair and the Asian had been declared the entrusted Keeper of the Tickets (Pun definitely intended, hardy har, Thomas) since his companion would’ve undoubtedly left them lying somewhere the moment they got inside. 

“Thank you, sir.” The Living Pimple Returns (the sequel to the ever popular blockbuster, Night of the Living Pimple) whined in his obnoxiously high pitched voice, his tone breaking on the last word as he took the required paper slips and pushed open the small plastic gate separating them from the cart. Ah, puberty must still be taking its toll. 

Thomas grabbed Minho by the hand in his eagerness and tugged the internally imploding wolf through the barrier before the local acne sacrifice even had a chance to gesture them inside, not that that stopped the kid from sweeping his arms toward the car in an inviting gesture anyway as he was paid to do despite the fact that the passengers were already safely inside the cart and seated on the small plastic bench provided.

“Please keep your hands, feet, and all other objects inside the cart at all times.” Puberty’s posterboy read off a piece of paper he plucked up off the control board, his eyes scanning the words slowly and his finger following along to keep the lines straight in a way that made Minho question if this kid really had the required intelligence to be running this type of equipment. Apparently literacy had no correlation to the ability to pull a lever for the teen gripped a long black pole as soon as the words left his wire thin lips and tugged it downwards, causing the cart to shake once before slowly beginning to rise. 

“Do you ever wonder how the others are doing? Frypan, Brenda, Jorge?” Thomas questioned softly as the ride started up and the lights began flashing to an upbeat, music box heavy tune as they were slowly lifted from the ground and began moving skywards at an agonizingly slow pace. 

Minho winced at the question, particularly at the mention of Brenda who he’d kinda hoped to wipe his companion’s mind of completely if possible. The girl had obviously had the hots for the brunette and the Asian was never quite sure if the feeling was mutual as Thomas was always hard to read, no matter how open the kid tried to be. The boy was like a puzzle, confusing and impossible to understand yet fascinating at the same time, ensnaring the wolf’s attention and making him want to solve that captivating puzzle piece by piece until he finally had the whole glorious picture put together to admire. 

However, Minho was also a selfish child that didn’t want anyone else to touch his puzzle and would gladly throw blocks, or more likely, fists, at anyone who dared try and, yeah, he most certainly did not want to talk about Brenda. 

“Honestly, no. Not really.” Minho admitted truthfully, he missed his old friends, yes, but he was here with Thomas and that’s what mattered. “Do you?” The werewolf added reluctantly, not sure he actually wanted to know the answer.

Thomas looked thoughtful for a long moment as the ride continued its seemingly endless ascent, the ground become more distant by the second and the people below shrinking as if some impossible potion from a child’s storybook had been poured on them. Alice in Whateverthefuck-Land? Yeah. Minho distantly remembered something like that. 

“No.” Thomas finally answered surely, sounding confident in his answer if not a little guilty as his hazel orbs moved from the quickly disappearing ground below to the endless horizon beyond. 

“Not even Brenda?” Minho questioned hesitantly, unsure of why it mattered so much but needing to know what the boy thought of the girl. 

“She was a good friend, kinda reminded me of Chuck in a way…” Thomas replied quietly but let his words trail off, his scent picking up a deep note of remorse at the mention of the youngest Glader who Minho knew for a fact the brunette blamed himself for the loss of. “But it’s not like I was in love with her or anything.” The teen finally finished, though he failed to brighten back up and Minho had the strongest urge to pull the boy into his arms and whisper reassurances to him until the younger male never blamed himself for Chuck’s death again. 

“Dude, are you kidding? She was all over you.” Minho snorted, half to distract Thomas from his sudden blue mood, half to find out more about that “not in love with her,” part of his friend’s answer. 

“Yeah but I don’t know, man.” Thomas replied hesitantly, obviously sounding as if he wanted to say more but looking uncertain until Minho bumped his shoulder lightly against the brunette's in an attempt to encourage him. “It just felt like, I don’t know…” Thomas trailed off again as the ride nearly peaked, just a few minutes away from reaching the climax of its ascent. 

“Like what?” Minho pressed as his companion failed to begin speaking once more, trying to keep his obvious interest from his voice as his heart rate betrayed him and picked up to the height of the wheel they currently sat upon. Thank fuck Thomas wasn’t a werewolf because Minho was pretty sure the rest of the pack could here his skyrocketing pulse from wherever they stood amongst the other fairgoers that appeared to be miles below. 

“Like it just wasn’t  _ right _ , you get me?” Thomas tried to explain carefully, looking unsure of his own words as if he himself hadn't quite figured them out yet either. “Every time she touched me, it was wrong. When she tried to kiss me, it was wrong.” The teen tried to elaborate, looking frustrated as he couldn't quite seem to get his idea straight. “Like, the actions were right. The motions were right - But it felt all wrong. Almost like it was familiar but… “ The brunette tried, sounding strained as his face scrunched up in concentration. 

“Familiar?” Minho repeated, trying and failing miserably to prevent the words from catching in his throat as his mind instantly flew to the information Deaton had provided him with earlier. 

“Yeah. Like, I felt like I wanted something like that…” Thomas started but then shook his head and rephrased. “No, had something like that and wanted it again…But... “ The boy tried then let out an agitated sigh, leaning back against the cool plastic of the cart and tipping his head back - Minho would really like to not feel the urge to nip the pale skin revealed by the action while they were having a serious discussion like this, thanks. 

“But?” Minho pressed nervously, unsure of why his face suddenly felt as flushed as the blushing lovestruck kids he’d seen stumbling off the ferris wheel earlier, maybe it was something about the ride. Yeah. High altitude! That was obviously the culprit here. 

“It felt like it should be someone else.” Thomas finally admitted softly, his voice dropping to a whisper and his gaze lowering, giving him an almost bashful look as he suddenly began avoiding Minho’s searching gaze.

And, gods help him, Minho almost told Thomas then.  _ Me, _ The Asian wanted to say.  _ You were mine, you’ve always been mine.  _ The words were right on the tip of his tongue, so eager to spill over and flow freely from his lips. 

“Would you think about me if I had went somewhere else?” Is what came out instead, because Minho was a fucking coward. God, he was a pony loving sissy, but he could not risk his friendship with Thomas. He couldn't. 

“Yes.” Thomas replied automatically as the ride finally peaked and Minho didn’t press.

“Good. Me too.” The wolf simply replied and his gaze followed Thomas’s to where the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon line, all liquid fire with ruby red clouds splattered across an ocean of orange radiance until it was cooled down by the mild, deep, and soothing purples of dusk slowly closing in on their warm wake.

In that brief moment, things were the closest Minho had ever gotten to perfect.

Then the ferris wheel rumbled to a jolting stop, the sound of power whining out of it slowly as the blinking lights illuminating the ride with their colorful and exciting beacons of radiance flickered once then died. 


	11. A Long Way Down

“Well, this sucks.” Thomas huffed dryly as the ride groaned to a reluctant halt, jolting into stillness and refusing to budge a single inch further. The brunette looked slightly uneasy, his honey orbs wide and suspicious as he leaned forward to try and get a better look at the ground below, probably hoping to spot the cause of the stoppage. 

However, all the action succeeded in doing was tipping the unstable cart with the unbalanced weight, making the thing pitch violently and threaten to spill the boys from its bowels before Thomas sprang back in an attempt to rewrite the car. The basket shifted compliantly into its previous position as if nothing had ever happened and it was only the shaken look written across either Gladers face that hinted there had ever been a disturbance as the teens exchanged an uneasy glance. 

“How about you don’t do that again?” Minho scoffed snarkily, trying to cover up how the tipping left him startled with sarcasm as per usual and reaching out to bat his companion over the head lightly with an open palm. Yeah, Minho was just super great at expressing emotions. 

“Everything is under control. Do not panic!” A nasally, somehow still bored sounding, voice carried on the wind before Thomas had a chance to bite back a reply, settling for merely sticking his tongue out at the Asian instead as Minho rolled his dark eyes at Pepperoni face’s lame attempt at condolence. Man, the wolf sure felt so much better now that he knew an illiterate, apathetic teenager was coming to the rescue. His hero. 

Thomas seemed to share the wolf’s sentiment as the brunette crossed his long arms in front of his chest and leaned back against the seat, looking tense and about as far from reassured as one could get. 

“Obviously, if things were under control we’d be on the ground.” The Runner pointed out bitterly, looking irritated and uneasy as he shifted about and glanced over the edge of the cart quickly before pulling back as to not upset the balance once more. 

Had Minho not been a supernatural wonder gifted with highly attuned senses that revealed far more to him than the average human being (Not to be cocky or anything, Minho was definitely a humble sorta dude, really. He was just also a self assured badass.)  he may have believed his friend truly was actually angry with the predicament but that was not the case.

Thomas’s sweet smell of home soured with the rotten musk of unease and uncertainty as the brunette subtly chewed his lower lip and glared at a random point in the now dark night sky, revealing his mask of anger for what it really was: Fear. 

_ You gotta lick him. _ Minho’s wolf decided confidently, apparently under the impression the Keeper's saliva was a mystical Cure-All that would magically dissipate any and all unpleasant emotions his mate experienced.  

Minho stubbornly told his weirdo instincts to back the fuck up, getting the impression that dragging his tongue over the younger boy’s pretty face would do nothing to alleviate his companion’s anxiety.

Aside from that, there was the fact that the Asian’s own rising unease would prevent him from doing much of anything helpful. His stomach was beginning to twist into horrible knots like they were back on the Tilt-A-Whirl with Isaac and an awful feeling of foreboding was burrowing itself deeper into the wolf’s heart by the second.

As minutes passed like hours and time seemed to drag on for an eternity, the Keeper only began to feel worse and worse. The smell of his mate’s lingering unease made the werewolf want to bite someone despite the fact that there was no one here to blame and now, in case they didn’t have enough problems already, the wind was quickly beginning to pick up. 

The whooshing breeze battered the cart and made it sway precariously in its relentless torrents, as if the weather were a huge invisible cat and the little car was a half dead rat tossed around in its paws for amusement. 

The horrible feelings of agitated uncertainty and rapidly mounting fear pressed down on Minho like a boulder atop his chest, growing heavier with each passing moment and leaving the Asian squashed helplessly under its grip. 

Then, soft fingers brushed lightly against his own and the feelings were gone, the crushing boulder lifted away by invisible cranes as if it had never been there in the first place. 

Minho glanced down at his hand to see Thomas’s pale fingers intertwine with his own, the teen’s long digits tentative at first, just barely ghosting across the Asian’s own until the wolf spread his hand in a show of invitation and the brunette threaded their fingers together and gave a reassuring squeeze. Maybe it was the bond between them that gave the simple touch such an impact, or maybe it was just because it was Thomas, but the small gesture was the most comforting thing the werewolf had experienced in his life and he gripped the other boy’s hand tightly in his own as if it were a lifeline. 

The Keeper sighed as the tension drained from him like magic, as if Thomas could pull fear like Minho could pull pain and his inner wolf urged him to butt his head against his mate’s hand until the younger male petted him - No. Minho still had some dignity. No matter how amazing that sounded, he would absolutely not initiate such an action (Now, if Thomas would like to offer to stroke him in any way, shape, or form Minho would be more than happy to comply.)

The moment was ruined, however, as the neon lights decorating the ride suddenly blazed back to life, blinding in their unexpected radiance and illuminating the night sky as the accompanying music began blaring from the speakers once more, making Minho want to slam his hands over his sensitive ears. (He didn't. His hand was still clasped in Thomas’s and he was going to make that last as long as possible, thanks.) The ferris wheel lurched once dangerously, groaning as if it were a great beast angry at being woken so soon and preparing to attack the fairgoers in its groggy wrath, then, reluctantly, it began moving once more, choppily at first, but lowering the Gladers nevertheless.  

“Oh, thank the gods.” Thomas sighed breathlessly, sagging slightly in relief as Minho released a huge breath of air he didn’t know he’d been holding and let himself slump back beside his companion. As much as the wolf was miffed about their moment being ruined, he was pretty grateful his wolf was cockblocked before it could convince him to nuzzle under his Runner’s  hand and beg for attention. Apparently Wolfy wanted petted pretty damn bad. ( _ My perfect mate’s long fingers tangling through my hair-  _ Minho cut his needy animal’s internal monolog off before it could prove just how convincing of a case it truly had.)

Instead the wolf opted to go for the less creepy version of the gooey eyed lover boy he had secretly become and simply leaned slightly against his companion, relishing the other male’s comforting presence as he tentatively pushed his shoulder into his friend's. 

Thomas leaned into the contact as their cart lowered, the action sending waves of relief over the werewolf that easily tramped the reassurance the ride’s now steady descent had brought. 

“Remind me to never let you drag me on another ride again.” Minho scoffed as the people on the ground lost the shape of ants and became distinguishable human beings once more. 

“C’mon, you gotta admit it was fun!” Thomas protested stubbornly, crossing his arms defiantly as his companion merely rolled his dark eyes.

“Oh yeah, Tomboy, getting trapped miles off the ground is just one of my favorite afternoon pastimes.” The Keeper snorted sarcastically as the glorious earth below became a tangible destination rather than a lucid fever dream they'd had no real hope of actually reaching.

“Before all that, slinthead.” Thomas huffed amusedly, shoving his companion lightly in the arm as the cart finally neared the metal platform that would grant them sweet freedom. 

Okay, so maybe Minho’s heart did a totally unmanly flutter when he heard his mate say he’d enjoyed the quiet, private moment they'd shared before it all went to shit - But the wolf still managed to exasperatedly roll his eyes, earning him a pointed elbow to the side. 

“I deeply apologise for any inconvenience or discomfort you may have experienced while on our ride.” Pepperoni boy’s high pitched voice came to greet Minho’s sensitive ears with its nails on chalkboard like tones as their cart finally came to a halt where it should rather than fifteen feet skyward. “Please accept this two cent coupon for hair spray and leave us a good review on Yelp.” The living puss ball concluded as he held up a small scrap of paper with a cartoon bottle of glue doodled on it and held it out to Minho as the Asian threw open the door of the car.

“It's only good for a few hours so use it quick!” The literal definition of annoying called after the pair as Minho snatched the scrap from his fingertips and pulled Thomas away from the death trap of a ride at top speed, leaving the boy whose wrist the Keeper had captured in his grip stumbling in his wake.

“Are you guys okay?” Came a sudden shout from a few feet away and Minho turned to see Stiles emerge from the darkness, jogging over to meet them with concern written across his face.

“Yeah. No biggie.” Minho assured as the teen came to a halt in front of them. “We've almost died at the hands of various monstrosities a few dozen times so we're pretty much used to it.” The Asian joked lightly, shooting the brunette a confident smirk to reassure the kid of the truth of his words.

Stiles didn't get a chance to respond as Derek came running up behind him a moment later, panting slightly and looking as if he'd just run across the entire park in a few seconds time, nearly colliding with the younger boy in his apparent haste.

“Jesus Christ, Stiles, you have to quit disappearing.” The alpha gasped breathlessly, glaring pointedly at the boy in question who merely offered an apologetic smile in reply and offered a hand to the wolf. 

“Sorry, Sourwolf.” Stiles apologised quickly as Derek linked his fingers with the kid's lithe ones and visibly relaxed slightly at the contact, as if the teen were using touch to assure the wolf of his presence and safety. 

“I think we're done with rides for the night.” Thomas admitted with an awkward laugh, the words sounding like liquid gold spilling from the brunette’s lips to Minho who would gladly kill to never have to touch another amusement park horror again.

“You can come play games with Derek and I.” Stiles suggested welcomingly, glancing over at Derek momentarily as if to assess the guy’s reaction but merely receiving a uninterested shrug in response. This must've been a positive response, however, as the brunette grinned eagerly at his boyfriend before turning his gaze back to the Gladers questioningly.

Minho looked inquisitively at his companion to see Thomas gazing at him hopefully with interest and curiosity glinting in amber eyes, a very Thomas-y combination of emotions that somehow still always managed to completely wreck Minho’s ability to breathe properly every time.

“Let's do it.” The werewolf agreed immediately, eager to do anything that might prolong that excited look in his mate’s eyes… Except maybe get on a carnival ride again.


	12. Fair Stalls and Hard Balls

The earsplitting crack of wood slamming into wood followed by the clatter of numerous weighty items toppling atop one another and rolling noisily against a metal surface thundered in Minho’s head as he trailed a chattering Stiles and an ever stoic Derek through the park, nearly flinching back against the sheer loudness of the awful din as they approached the source of the endless hell song - Curse supernatural hearing.  Sure, it had many benefits - Like, maybe, listening in on one’s best friend while they had “private time.” (Thomas always seemed to choose the deadheads, though why anyone would want to jerk off beside dead people, Minho would never know - Nor did he know that Thomas masturbated in the Glader’s makeshift cemetery for that matter. Nope. He wasn’t an eavesdropping pervert in the least.) - But damn it could be a pain in the ass, or more accurately the head if the migraine Minho was starting to have was anything to go by.

Thomas eyed the booths interestedly as they approached, hazel orbs wide and excited as they came to stand before a tent covered oak table where a man covered in enough hair to qualify him as more of an animal then Minho or Derek stood leaning against the wood and grinning eagerly at the little group as they approached. 

“Step right up! Step right up!” The man bellowed enthusiastically, his double chin bouncing fluidly as he threw his arms out in invitation and gave a hearty laugh that jiggled his bulging stomach like a Santa Claus starring in a cliche children's story. 

The rancid scent of body odour and rotten beef washed over Minho in a nauseating wave as the group came to a halt in front of the counter, making him feel as if they were on the Tilt-A-Whirl once more as his stomach decided to join a team of Olympic acrobats and was going for gold. 

Before Minho's stomach could bring home a shiny medal for its country, Derek Hale wordlessly slammed a few neatly folded dollars down on the wooden surface, earning a wild grin from the game master as the dude reached under the counter and produced four large wooden balls from somewhere, easily fitting the items in his huge, sweat drenched hands

“Derek’s really good at this game.” Stiles explained excitedly, watching his boyfriend with attentive eyes as the Alpha plucked up the first ball and squinted at the far side of the sloping tent, where a second counter housed a few small towers of old wooden pins stacked atop one another. 

Derek lowered his body and fixed his goal with a grave stare so full of intensity Minho was surprised the pins didn't burst into flames on the spot. The wolf’s lips twisted into a determined snarl as he drew back, bringing his arm far behind his body and clutching the unfortunate wooden object tight enough that Minho was sure he heard it crack in the guy’s grip.

Minho struggled to refrain from snorting amusedly. All these theatrics were ridiculous and Derek looked more as if he were bracing himself for a battle of life or death rather than to throw a ball at some sticks at a carnival. It was a silly game and the alpha was only making a fool out of himself.

Except then an ear shattering crack ripped through the air, exploding in the quiet and absolutely demolishing Minho’s poor unfortunate ear drums as he nearly reared back at the sound and struggled not to clasp his hands over his over sensitive ears. Then came the rolling of pins and the Asian had to refrain from groaning as he gazed at the empty area where the pins Derek had been aiming for once stood, now left as barren as Minho might as well be since he honestly could not picture ever wanting to stick his dick in anything that wasn't Thomas.

Speaking of the inevitable cause of the end of Minho's bloodline, he flinched at the deafening sound, recoiling into Minho’s side as his addictive scent inexplicably soured with the worrisome smell Minho had finally placed as guilt when they'd first arrived in Beacon Hills. 

“You weren't playing!” Thomas chuckled awedly before Minho had a chance to wonder about his companion’s off reaction, the boy seeming to recover from his momentary discomfort as quickly as it had come. 

“Yeah, he is really sexy.” Stiles replied dazedly, his amber eyes glazed over with adoration as he stared past the Gladers to keep his gaze fixed resolutely on Derek’s arms as if the bulging veins spoke to him in a language only he could understand. “I mean, yeah! Yeah! Told you so.” Stiles quickly corrected after an embarrassingly long moment, finally breaking his staring contest with his boyfriend’s biceps to snap momentarily back to reality before the display immediately drew him back in.

Derek turned to gaze proudly back at the group, usually stoic face contorted in the beginnings of a victorious smirk as the arms apparently became too much for Stiles and the boy bounded the short distance between them, practically leaping into the older man and still managing to throw the wolf slightly off balance despite their obvious size difference in his excitement - Like a small, brunette torpedo rocketing into a brick wall. 

“Damn! And here I thought you had a throwing arm, Min!” Thomas laughed lightly, looking impressed and smiling teasingly as he playfully shoved the wolf in question with his shoulder, the slight contact making angels sing in Minho’s head, a brilliant chorus complete with all the bells and whistles: Harps, heavenly light, the whole shebang.

Despite that, Minho’s wolf was displeased. His mate should be impressed with  _ him. _ The desire to do absolutely anything to regain Thomas’s attention bubbled up inside him and pressed him to run into the forest and fell the largest predator he could find to drag back and lay at the brunette boy’s feet until praised. 

“What about you, boyo? Wanna win something for your little boyfriend?” The chunky ball of lard bellowed, drawing Minho’s attention back to the world where it was unacceptable to drag the dead carcass of wild animals to one’s best friend. 

Minho totally reacted smoothly and cooly, keeping a coy attitude and remaining collected at all times as he professionally replied to the obviously confused man, ready to correct this foolish misinterpretation as calmly as possible… Meaning, that he sputtered unintelligibly for a good minute, eyes blown wide and face flushed red as the ketchup stains he’s spotted on Isaac’s shirt earlier that day as he sprayed spit and squeaked out an inhuman sound no living creature could possibly interpret. 

Minho’s embarrassment burned like liquid fire through his veins, his face ablaze as he firmly clamped his unobedient mouth shut seeing as his response was obviously not panning out as planned and was probably only making it more obvious how the simple question had thrown him for a loop. 

Meanwhile, the game runner merely chuckled knowingly and began reaching down for the wooden balls before Minho had even agreed, seeming to already know how this was going to play out. Derek Hale barked out a sharp snort of a laugh somewhere in the background, likely able to scent the other wolf’s humiliation.

Except, Thomas merely laughed lightly, smiling easily and unbotheredly at the confused soul behind the counter and, for some inexplicable reason, did not open his mouth to correct the man. Aside from that, the brunette's intoxicating scent exploded with an electrifying spike of happiness and warmed with the underlying tone of something sweet and deep, countless layers of honey and sugar combining to make a single, earth shattering smell. Minho couldn’t put a name to the flavor but it was nothing short of downright addictive and his wolf wanted more of it. Actually, he kinda just wanted to drown himself in it, really. Who needed to breathe air anyway? Oxygen couldn't possibly compare to the hypnotic aroma and besides, suffocation was all the rage nowadays. 

Rather than actually replying, Minho merely produced his wallet and grabbed a few crinkled dollars before haphazardly slamming the bills on the table, not trusting his words at the moment and pretty sure if he opened his mouth and inhaled the smell there was a 99.9% chance he was going to lose what little restraint he still had and pounce Thomas like a piece of meat.

The man behind the counter slammed his huge hand down over the wrinkled pieces of paper, completely concealing them deep in the recesses of his meaty folds before drawing the appendage back towards his hefty frame, seeming to straight up absorb the cash as it disappeared into the chunky flesh - Maybe the dude ate the dollars with his overactive sweat glands. The living potato sack then produced three large wooden balls from beneath the counter, his movements agonizingly slow and leaving him looking as if he was stuck in some parallel universe where everyone was spliced with molasses.

Minho bit back an inpatient growl as the dude’s huge hand slowly lifted off the wooden items, leaving a glistening sweat stain on the balls as they were finally freed from the guy’s endless mountains of flab. The wolf darted forward as soon as he could, snatching the balls from the counter and indiscreetly wiping them off on his pants with a look of disgust, grimacing as he tried not to choke on the stomach churning scent of salt and body order flooding his senses and drowning out the last lingering remnants of Thomas’s sweet scent. 

The werewolf stalked over to where Stiles was just beginning to untangle himself from Derek, sort of reminding Minho of an octopus in the way the brunette's lanky limbs reluctantly unentwined from where they had twisted around the Alpha in ways the Asian hadn’t even known to be possible.

“What do you want?” Derek finally managed to question the smaller male as Stiles finally stopped collapsing the guy’s esophagus in his tight grip, the werewolf nodding towards the colorful row of plush toys lining the top of the game tent. The stuffed animals were strung up to frame the canvas and overflowing over the sides of the display area, all fluffy looking monstrosities with huge, oversized, lifeless eyes that made Minho cringe to even look at and left the Keeper hurrying to get to his place and take his turn in an attempt to escape the toys’ dead stare as quickly as possible. 

Despite his hurry, Minho did manage to see Stiles flush slightly, cheeks turning as pink as his lips, as he pointed at a brightly colored snake that was currently hanging from the top of the tent yet still almost dragging the ground in its fullness, its vibrant blue tail just sweeping the tips of the grass as the bulbous man behind the counter reached up to untie it. Minho nearly gagged at the way the dude’s arm fat collapsed in rolls over the extended limb and shook with each tiny motion as he struggled against the cords before finally managing to free the prize after a long moment of grunting and wheezing with breathless effort.  

Derek took the vibrant stuffed animal from the guy and turned back towards his boyfriend, who was now practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement, grinning from ear to ear as he reached out both hands and eagerly flexed his long fingers in a grabby motion. Surprising Minho,who had been under the impression Derek Hale was an impenetrable fortress of grumpiness, the alpha’s lips curled upwards in the beginnings of a smile as he ignored the teen’s grabbing digits and slung the snake around the kid’s neck instead, letting it hang low over Stiles’s shoulders as the brunette eyed the muscled guy confusedly, hazel orbs wide and questioning.

Minho quickly reverted his attention back to his own set of pins as Derek grabbed either end of the snake and used it to tug the smaller male closer to himself, leaning down to effectively cut off Stiles startled squeak at being moved by pressing his lips against the brunette's. 

Minho eyed the pins suspiciously as if he half expected them to run away the moment he chucked a ball at them, his gaze intense and analyzing as he tossed the ball experimentally from hand to hand, trying to get a sense of how it flew. The werewolf calculated the weight of the item in his hand, measuring the distance between himself and the goal as he planted his feet far apart from each other in an attempt to gain balance. The supernatural being shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he drew his arm back in preparation for the pitch, narrowing his dark eyes and trying to picture an invisible line from his hand to the pins on the far side of the counter. 

Then Minho said fuck it and threw the damn ball already. 

A loud crash could be heard, then the abhorrent sound of something being ripped. However, there was no satisfying  sound of pins crashing together or rolling across the smooth surface of the table and when Minho gazed at the pins he’d been aiming for, he saw them all sitting exactly where they'd been before, stacked neatly atop each other in a perfect pile. There was however a tattered hole through the canvas tent off to the left of them. Whoops. So much for supernatural reflexes, supernatural strength was doing just fine on the other hand. 

“Holy shit, Min!” Thomas snorted through a fit of giggles but didn't get much farther than that as his snickers bubbled up into a full belly laugh that stole his words away and left him a trembling mess. 

Minho really gave a monumental effort to glare at his friend but it proved rather difficult to do so when his heart decided to elope with his stomach and take up residence in his throat at the mere sight of Thomas overwhelmed with laughter. 

The pretty brunette was doubled over, wheezing in gasping breaths of air as he wrapped his long arms around his stomach in an attempt to regain control over his giggles, though it proved to be little to no avail as the teen stuttered out something Minho couldn't quite catch through the breathless wheezes and immediately fell back into a renewed fit of laughter. 

“You're supposed to aim at the pins, pup.” Derek snorted dryly from where he stood nearby, though his witless sarcasm lost a bit of its bite when Minho turned to glare at the guy and found him to be tied to Stiles by a neon snake. The sly brunette had somehow managed to get the toy around both of their waists and was now beginning to work on tying the werewolf’s hands behind his back, seemingly unnoticed as Derek was too busy smirking cockily at Minho. 

Minho really intended to bite back a snarky response but his attention was suddenly yanked back to Thomas with whiplash causing strength as the brunette finally overcame his hysterics and restraightened himself. This would have all been fine and dandy if the Runner hadn't then proceeded to tip his head back to gasp in a huge calming breath as he apparently tried to recover from his sudden fit of giggles, leaving the pale column of his neck on full display.

Now, Minho had more practice in self control than most - As the majority of the populous usually didn't have to constantly fight the overwhelming urge to pin their best friend on the nearest surface that was vaguely flat and not made of bees - But all of that resilience was blown away like dust caught in a fucking tornado as Thomas swallowed back a heavy gulp of air, his throat bobbing with the action and highlighting a thin line of sweat slowly trailing down the expanse of his skin.

_ Claim. _ Wolfy demanded in a low whine, absolutely refusing to let Minho break his gaze from the sight despite the Asian's best attempts to do so and the wolf was pretty sure an absolutely pathetic whimper managed to claw its way past his clamped lips as his eyes tracked the motion against his will.

It might have been all over then if Derek hadn’t actually done something helpful for once in his miserable existence and slammed another unfortunate ball into a stack of pins, the earshatterung sound breaking through the haze of delusional fantasy (What? Thomas could totally bare his neck and beg for Minho to sink his fangs into the sensitive flesh there. It could happen.) Minho had become lost in and dragging his sorry ass back to reality where Thomas was presumably not about to offer himself up to be the wolf's new chew toy.

Minho glowered disdainfully at the toppled pins, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere besides at Thomas since that was obviously going to lead to him pouncing the brunette and devouring him like a piece of meat but still feeling unhappy at not being able to impress his mate with his obviously superior fair game skills.

Derek then turned back with a victorious glint in his gray eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips as he made eye contact with Minho, gaze hard and challenging. 

Minho growled and grabbed one of his remaining balls, glaring steadily back into the Alpha’s stare as he stalked to the counter. If Derek wanted a challenge, that's what Minho would give him.


	13. "Fair-ing" Pretty Well

The ball flew straight and strong, cutting a clean path through the cool night air until it connected with the wooden pins and toppled them all with one fell swoop, leaving the items to roll noisily around the metal counter they sat upon until they reached the edge of the surface and plummeted toward the ground.   

Minho turned to sneer confidently at Derek, pride exploding inside him and drawing his lips up in a vicious smirk of victory as he crossed his arms defiantly over his chest and glared at the other wolf. The Asian received naught but an exasperated eye roll for his efforts so the Keeper quickly averted his attention to the real reason he’d been playing a stupid fair game relentlessly for the past three hours, turning to gaze behind himself in hopes of seeing an adorable brunette boy gazing at him in awe before bounding into the Runner’s arms, overcome with adoration.

Instead Minho’s hopeful gaze fell on some random snot-nosed brat who stood with her finger shoved far enough up her right nostril the werewolf was legitimately concerned she may pull her brain out. 

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice sounded somewhere behind Minho as the Keeper blinked blankly at the toddler who was obviously not a sexy teenage boy about to leap into his arms. 

“They wandered off about twenty minutes ago.” The gamekeeper spoke up, his voice dry and bored as he gazed exhaustedly at the two guys who’d hogged up his time for the majority of the evening.  So much for Minho’s great plan to impress Thomas. 

“Shit.” Derek huffed softly, frowning deeply with something almost readable as concern written across his face as he took a few steps forward and cast his dark eyes about the crowd. 

Anxiousness clawed its way into Minho’s chest. Legitimately, the wolf knew he was being paranoid; but everytime Thomas was out of his sight, the Keeper just couldn’t calm down. The presence of the boy soothed the werewolf and when the brunette wasn't around everything just felt off - Like the entire world was shifted three inches to the left. Maybe it was how many times he’d almost lost the boy in the past, maybe his wolf didn't like being parted from its mate… Either way, Minho was really starting to consider just gluing Thomas to his side.

For now though, Minho settled for closing his eyes and trying to locate his Runner, straining to overcome the overbearing interference of the fair and searching for any hint of familiarity in the chaotic din. The idea of finding Thomas by scent was ruled out rather quickly, it just simply wasn't an option with all the greasy food stands and crowds of people clogging his senses and smothering out any hope of scenting the brunette. Instead, Minho tried to listen for his mate’s heartbeat, toning out the world around him and focusing solely on finding that familiar rhythm.

The werewolf pushed everything else aside, the metallic grinding of the old rides in motion, the shrill screams of whiney kids, the vendors calling out their wares at the tops of their lungs… He searched through it all to find that familiar rhythm and finally, after a long, tense moment that definitely shaved a few years off Minho’s lifetime, he found it, his senses locking in on the steady thrum of Thomas’s heartbeat until it was all he could hear. 

“They’re coming back this way.” Minho assured a still worried looking Derek after a long moment, trying to keep the pure relief he felt washing over him from his voice as he traced the sound of Thomas’s heart and found it to be steadily approaching their little corner of the crowded fairgrounds.

“You can find them from here? In this mess?” Derek deadpanned disbelievingly, gazing disapprovingly around at the chaos they found themselves in before turning back to Minho with one, unimpressed eyebrow raised. “Sorry, pup, but I’m not about to buy that you’re some kinda superwolf. I can’t smell anything but cheap dough and the cardboard they pass off as meat frying in huge tubs of heart disease.” The Alpha snorted dryly, sneering cynically at the younger wolf with a hard look in his stormy gray eyes. 

“I can sense Thomas’s heartbeat. Not my fault you can’t keep track of your boyfriend.” Minho growled angrily, remembering how Derek had mentioned Stiles disappearing on numerous occasions since they’d met the odd pair and hoping to sting the irritating guy with his words. The Keeper was just about tired of Derek constantly acting like he had a stick shoved up his ass - Or maybe, Stiles should actually try doing that. It could get this ungodly prick over whatever deep set need to be an asshole he currently had. 

Derek snarled, eyes flashing crimson red as he glared at the Asian, looking more like a dormant volcano than an irritating guy as his face flushed as red as a chubby two year old who’d just learned Hershey Park wasn’t made of chocolate and was about to throw the biggest temper tantrum of the century. 

However, fate apparently decided to take a break from its usual cynical joyride and cut Minho a little bit of slack as Stiles re-emerged from the crowd a moment later, Thomas at his heels.

“Told you so.” Minho couldn’t help but huff in a quiet whisper, wholeheartedly aware of how much of a second grader he sounded like as he turned to glare pointedly at Derek with a victorious smirk tugging at his lips.

Derek, however, seemed genuinely surprised, glancing at the twins as if double checking that they were real before casting a side long look at Minho, dark eyes cold and analytical. “You're bound to him.” The alpha noted emotionlessly. “That's why you're part of the pack.” The guy concluded clinically.

“Yeah? You don't say? I hadn't noticed.” Minho snarled in a hushed whisper, Thomas was getting way too close for him to be discussing Derek Hale’s apparent slowness and inability to read social cues - The game keeper had figured this shit out quicker for fucks sake.

“But it's stronger - You shouldn't have been able to sense him from here. Not if I couldn't find Stiles.” Derek mused thoughtfully, looking confused yet interested as he gazed at Minho as if the younger werewolf were a specimen trapped under a glass case for him to examine. The discerning stare didn't leave Derek’s gray eyes for a long moment and Minho was really starting to consider changing the guy's name to McCreepy when Stiles finally got close enough to call out to the wolf, efficiently breaking the awkward moment as Derek finally pulled his gaze away from the Keeper, though his eyes still lingered critically. 

“Have fun playing with balls, Min?” Thomas quipped jovially before Minho had a chance to process the information Derek had just given him. The brunette bounded over to the werewolf but dodged nimbly out of the way as the Asian took a playful swing at him for his comment. 

“You two seemed distracted enough so we decided to go grab some food.” Stiles explained breathlessly; and when Minho turned to see what had stolen the kid’s breath, he found Derek had roughly pulled the teen against his chest into a bone crushing hug, apparently displeased at the separation - Minho had to admit he felt a little bad about using the kid’s odd disappearances as a weapon earlier. (Though he'd never admit it to Captain Asshole McFuckface.)

“That's the understatement of the year. I waved my hand in front of your face and everything. You didn't even blink!” Thomas scoffed amusedly but the sentence ended in a sharp squeal as Minho sprang at him, undeterred by Thomas’s earlier evasion of his attack and determined to have his vengeance. 

Thomas tried to skid to the left as Minho charged at him, ducking under the werewolf’s arm as the Asian tried to grab him, but the Keeper was quicker and spun on a heel before the brunette even had a chance to restabilize himself. Minho swung his other arm out as Thomas stumbled to a halt and braced himself for his next move, catching the brunette around the waist and hauling the teen back towards himself before his Runner even had a chance to react.

“Minho, have mercy!” Thomas whined pleadingly, twisting and squirming around in the werewolf’s steely grip to no avail, his attempts fruitless against the supernatural’s unfair advantage of ungodly strength and great arms.

“You asked for this, Tomboy!” Minho retorted cruely, letting just a little bit of a growl enter his voice, not enough to be intimidating but enough to make the boy in his  arms’ heart rate pick up as his attempts to escape became a little more frenzied. 

Minho forced himself to stick to the safe notion that Thomas's increased heart rate was an adrenaline induced phenomenon, it was the only way to keep his own heart from pursuing a career as an astronaut and it would be foolish of him to even entertain the briefest notion that there was any other factor affecting the brunette's elevated pulse. However, the sudden return of that earthshatteringly addictive scent he'd smelled on his friend earlier was making it hard to ignore the dangerous hope that so badly wanted to brew in the Asian's chest. 

The unfamiliar smell’s unimaginably sweet decadence enraptured the Keeper, driving his wolf wild and making him very much start to regret ensnaring Thomas in his arms. It was too much. Up close the scent was only stronger in its pull, the rich divinity of it urging the werewolf to bury his face in his mate’s neck until it was all he could smell. Combined with the feel of the younger boy actually in his arms, it was undeniable and Minho knew his urges would win out sooner or later if he didn't get control of himself quick.

Minho had just begun some slow breathing exercises (A.K.A: Breathing shallowly through his mouth to avoid inhaling the drug like scent) when Thomas decided to blow all the Keeper's hopes and dreams of self-control out of the water. 

The teen must've came up with a new plan, since random squirming and flailing was obviously not doing the trick, and abruptly went still in Minho’s iron grip, leaving the wolf confused and concerned. However, concern was shot in the ass a moment later when the smaller boy tilted his neck to the side and let his head fall back onto the Asian’s shoulder, leaving his neck exposed in a show of submission.

Minho should admittedly probably be wondering where Thomas learned such a thing - But truthfully the Asian wasn't thinking of Jack shit. All thoughts were consumed by the wildfire the display lit inside the werewolf, leaving nothing but the burning need to sink his teeth into his perfect, submissive mate’s neck and claim the smaller boy for his own. 

The Keeper was about halfway to doing just that when he caught himself and hurriedly stuffed his mind full of good ‘ol trustworthy images of saggy grandma tits, hoping to splash some cold, hard reality onto his horny ass wolf. 

Disgusting as it was, the tactic was working great until Thomas opened his beautiful mouth again and threw Minho's valiant efforts out the nearest window and sent them falling twenty stories before they landed in front of a cement roller and were never to be seen again. This seemed to be a increasingly common occurrence whenever Thomas opened his mouth.

“You win, Min. I'm sorry. Please let me go.”  Thomas pleaded in a low whisper, never once moving from the submissive pose. “Please, Minho?” The brunette added in a pleading tone that made Minho desperately want to hear those same words spoke in an entirely different context. 

Except, the problem here was, the display made Minho want to do the complete opposite of what Thomas was asking. Having his perfect, sexy mate captured and baring his succulent neck for the wolf was not exactly conducive to fighting back the pressing urge to claim the delicious brunette and the fact that Thomas’s scent had failed to loose its drawing, sweet edge was doing incredibly little to aid the Keeper’s cause. 

_Bite. Claim._ ** _Mine._** Minho's wolf reiterated urgently, the words a low, feral growl that left no room for argument despite Minho’s obvious need to argue against the unattainable desire. As much as he wanted to simply mark Thomas and claim him as his own here and now, there was no way the Asian was going to do so without the other teen’s consent. He needed Thomas to want him too. However, self restraint was only so strong of a leash and with Thomas willingly giving himself to the wolf as he currently was in his submissive position, it was a fraying rope on the edge of snapping. 

Which was why Minho was ready to fall to his knees and kiss the guy’s feet (Well, maybe he would've been if he wasn’t so stomachchurningly odourful) when the gamekeeper suddenly bellowed, “Hey, you gonna choose a damn toy or not, boyo?” Effectively snapping the wolf from his Thomas-induced trance of lust with a bucket of ice cold reality just as the Keeper felt his mouth open whether he wanted it to or not.  

Minho let his grip on Thomas go lax as soon as he could convince himself to do so, using the momentary shock produced by the jarring sound of the gamekeeper’s booming voice to release his hold on the teen before the rest of the wolf could figure out what he was doing and put a stop to it. 

Thomas grinned at the Keeper, a cunning glint shining in the brunette's hazel orbs as he turned back to smirk slightly at his defeated attacker, just the corner of one side of his pink lips drawing upwards in the beginnings of the victorious expression. That sly little fox...

Now, Minho hoped that this sudden change of attitude would perhaps deter his wolf in its endless quest to pin Thomas to the ground and claim the boy in all senses of the word but, apparently, he would be totally fucking wrong.  _ Clever. _ Wolfy declared wantingly, evidently pleased by his wry mate’s cunning ways.

“Choose anything off the top row.” The gamekeeper cut in again boredly,  digging under his huge nails before flicking away a tiny piece of dirt as Minho approached the booth once more, grateful for the distraction from his wolf's sudden attraction to Thomas’s fiery attitude, the creature apparently liking his mate’s unwillingness to just roll over and play dead.

“I don’t want anything.” Minho began slowly, choosing his words very carefully to make this next part as least awkward as humanly possible. 

“Oh thank go-” The gamekeeper began with a heavy sigh of relief, only to twist his face into a dark scowl once more as Minho quickly cut him off with another rush of words.

“So you can choose something, Tom.” The werewolf rambled out quickly, stringing the sentence together so that it flowed more as one word than any distinct few words as he rushed through the phrase as quickly as possible, hating how he felt his face flush and his heart race as he spoke. 

“Really?” Thomas startled hastily, looking genuinely surprised despite the fact that the gamekeeper, Stiles, Derek and everyone around them looked entirely unshocked in the slightest. Leave it to Minho to fall for the most oblivious person to ever exist - It was a wonder Thomas survived this long, though it probably had a good bit to do with Minho swooping in to save the brunette's sorry ass like some feathered and fanged guardian angel of the night time and again. 

“Yeah, I’m really not a diehard fan of jumbo, neon bananas wearing sunglasses.” Minho assured easily then leaned in to add, “Their googly eyes feel like there staring into my soul.” In a hushed whisper, eliciting a amused snort from Thomas that went straight to Minho’s weak heart - Literally everything Thomas did was so cute, the werewolf was undoubtedly going to die of a heart attack at age 17 and it was going to be all his adorable mate’s fault. At least the Asian would die happy.

Thomas’s scent picked up with Minho’s new favorite smell - no frying meat or brewing coffee could possibly compete with something so purely indulgent - as the brunette's hazel orbs widened slightly, glimmering with excitement and surprise while Minho decided he would eagerly accept his incredible, early, heart failure induced demise if it meant he got to witness such a beautiful display.

The younger boy moved to the booth tentatively, honey orbs running thoughtfully over the huge stuffed animals adorning the top row of the booth as the gamekeeper straightened up in preparation to complete his toy giving duties. Then, Thomas’s eyes moved lower, taking in the entirety of the booth’s selection with the same considering gaze before they suddenly halted their monotonous left to right pattern. 

“Does it have to be off the top row?” Thomas inquired hopefully, his eyes widening as they stayed locked on the same spot they'd come to rest upon a moment ago. Minho vowed to rip the offspring of a horrible relationship between human and beluga whale that defied mother nature in every way possible’s spleen out through the guy’s throat if he told the werewolf’s precious mate no.

“Nah, kid. Whatever you want.” The tub of lard replied with a slight laugh, smartly preserving his life for the time being. Minho also had to note the dude seemed much friendlier than he had a moment ago when it was just the Asian and Derek - Maybe Thomas and Stiles were some kind of magical softening barrier between the hard headed, probably intolerable, werewolves and the rest of the world. It made about as much sense as everything else in Minho’s life. 

“That one then.” Thomas indicated eagerly, pointing a finger at something on one of the lower shelves Minho couldn’t quite see around the many rolls of the local Pillsbury doughboy. 

However, the Keeper definitely saw it when his mate reached out his arms and had placed into his long, grabbing fingers a small stuffed wolf. The toy had pitch black fur, darker than the night surrounding them at that very moment that brilliantly offset piercing blue eyes made out of two shiny buttons that caught the light and reflected it back so that they appeared to glow in the darkness. 

“And you're very sure he doesn't know?” Stiles hissed in Minho’s ear as Thomas began to stroll back towards the group, accompanying the question with a light snicker as Minho merely opened and closed his mouth a few times like the impressive, super cool, supernatural badass he was. Yeah. Totally badass.


	14. FYI: Werewolves Love to Play Chase

Thomas slowed and halted his approach as Minho gawked incredulously at the teen, his dark eyes as wide as saucers and refusing to break their uncomprehending stare. The wolf knew he should probably keep his unsubtle staring to a minimum but he was only human after all - Well, not  _ human  _ per say… Humanoid shapeshifter actually and that was the problem… But, you know, you get the point. Human-y.

“What?” Thomas demanded defensively, face flushing an absolutely adorable shade of pink. “I like wolves!” The brunette protested unhappily, clutching his toy protectively against his chest and sticking his tongue defiantly out at his friend as he stalked the rest of the way over to the group.

Minho threw his hands up in a pacifying gesture, rolling his eyes skyward as an excuse to put them anywhere besides on Thomas as the werewolf tried to reign back in his suddenly explosive heart rate. The brunette’s words had sent a rush of pure elated adrenaline coursing through the Asian's body despite his best attempts to convince himself to be logical about this and his unobedient heart pounded in his chest like a sledgehammer. 

The Keeper refused to let himself be hopeful - It had been one of his number one rules in the Maze and he wasn't about to abandon it now. But… There was the glaring fact that Thomas was what had brought real hope, actual, true hope to the Maze and had eventually used that hope to break them all out. Thomas had become Minho's hope then and had remained so ever since - So the “no hope” rule was pretty already trashed on the Thomas front. 

“Have you guys been at the games all night?” A female voice inquired abruptly and the redhead from Deaton’s suddenly appeared beside Thomas, shoving the teen slightly as she questioned him and sending the brunette stumbling into Minho. 

Minho was quick to restabilize his companion and who's to say if he perhaps tugged the brunette a little farther away from the newcomer as he did so? It was poor compensation for the low growling he was barely magaining to bite back. His wolf wanted to snarl and snap, evidently displeased with the casual contact and practically livid over the fact that someone would actually dare to lay hand on his mate.

“Nah, we rode some shit before this.” Thomas replied easily, shifting his grip on his wolf plushie so it hung from the middle of his chest where he crossed his arms over it while Minho fought back the pressing urge to toss the brunette over his shoulder and get him away from the girl as soon as possible. 

“What's that?” The redhead asked unenthusiastically, pointing at Thomas’s prize and raising one incredulous eyebrow at it, looking as if she'd never seen anything less impressive in her life. 

“Minho won it for me.” Thomas explained excitedly, proudly holding up the ragdoll for inspection though the redhead drew back slightly as if disgusted by its mundanity. 

“Oh!” The girl replied understanding, a sudden spark of realization lighting in her eyes as she subtly moved back a step. “Well, you guys should totally check out the fortune teller before we leave.” The redhead encouraged, gesturing towards a gaudily decorated tent, smothered in red lights and beadwork, not too far off. “Heard she's really good at reading people’s feeling.” The chick added with a sly smile, locking eyes with Minho for just a moment before pulling out her phone as if nothing had ever happened. 

“Sounds interesting!” Thomas agreed eagerly before turning his expectant gaze on Minho as if waiting for confirmation that the wolf would go with him, apparently not wanting to be separated from the Asian and seeming unwilling to go if the werewolf wouldn’t accompany him.

“Sure. Let’s go hear what horrible fate awaits us next.” Minho snorted sarcastically, knowing the likelihood of some batty old woman in a technicolor tent holding the key to the future was about as likely as Thomas returning his feelings but also unwilling to pass up the opportunity to stay at the brunette's side if his Runner wanted him there. 

Thomas grinned excitedly at the wolf before immediately darting off in the direction of the tent Lydia had indicated, apparently more eager to participate in the cheesy gimmick than he’d let on. Why, oh why did the pretty brunette have to take a two ton wrecking ball Minho’s heart with his adorable childish innocence like this? Minho was so absolutely head over heels it was legitimately starting to hurt, his heart physically constricting in his chest in response to his mate’s endearing actions and his muscles left aching from fighting their constant, instinctual desire to wrap himself around the smaller boy. 

“Hey, stormcloud,” The confounding redhead suddenly hissed just as Minho was about to take off after his companion, halting the Keeper’s retreat as he turned to glare at her. Okay, so maybe it was a little possessive, but the wolf wasn’t exactly over the fact that the bitch had the audacity to lay hand on what was his and the Asian wasn’t exactly eager to have a nice little chat with her (Unless it was going to end with her missing a finger or two.)

“Stop that. I’m trying to apologize, asshat.” The red haired woman scoffed irritably, rolling her eyes exasperatedly in response to Minho’s initial confrontational reaction and looking practically bored, as if she were used to dealing with unbearable werewolves and was merely tired of their shit at this point. 

“What for?” Minho growled shortly, the words coming out much harsher than he’d intended them to as he bit his lip to contain a building rant about how Thomas belonged to him and should never be touched by her or anyone else. 

“For, you know, “laying hand on what’s yours” or whatever.” The girl replied with another eye roll, making a mocking “blah blah” gesture with her left hand as she spoke, giving the impression this was something someone had lectured her on before. “I can’t smell you on him like ya’ll can, so I didn’t know he was yours. Know you freaks are touchy about that kinda shit, so sorry about that, I guess.” The girl elaborated boredly, looking entirely done with this whole conversation as she inspected a nail, frowning disapprovingly at a miniscule chip in it as if the slight imperfection was an abomination that scorned the earth with its mere presence. 

“Um, thanks, I guess.” Minho mumbled awkwardly, letting his tense stance relax slightly, drawing his shoulders down from their arched position and shifting about uncomfortably, unsure of what to say in this particular situation - “Shockingly” he’d never expected to find himself in a situation where someone would have to apologize for touching a person he’d claimed as own. How foolish of him. 

“Eh, don’t worry about it.” The redhead replied casually, smiling slightly as she drew her gaze back up from her chipped nail to meet the werewolf’s eyes. “Derek nearly gutted me for patting Stiles on the shoulder once, so no biggie, really.” She added with a soft laugh, turning her eyes to where Stiles was nodding vigorously in agreement and Derek was glaring at the ground as if it had insulted him, obviously not denying the claim. 

“Hey, what’s your name anyway?” Minho asked finally, his wolf was apparently appeased by the apology and acknowledged the female as pack, so he should probably figure out her actual title rather than keep referring to her as “that one redheaded chick” for the rest of her life.

“You haven't known this whole time?” The girl groaned disbelievingly, looking entirely fed up with absolutely everything as she heaved a huge sigh of irritation before finally replying. “It’s Lydia. Lydia Martin.” The redhead - Lydia, apparently - informed drly, her fingertips clasped to the bridge of her nose in utter exasperation as she shook her head slowly as if unable to comprehend the stupidity surrounding her. 

Minho rolled his eyes in return, sarcasm being his forte, but this merely elicited a slight chuckle from Lydia who turned and disappeared into the crowd she’d emerged from once more, apparently losing interest in the group for now. However, this ended up being impeccable timing as Thomas called “Minho, are you coming?” a moment later, drawing the wolf’s attention to where the brunette was now standing a little ways away, waiting for the werewolf to join him before going any further.

Admittedly, Minho probably should not be coming. One didn’t have to be a fortune teller to pick up on the werewolve’s obvious attraction to a certain pretty brunette boy and; if what Lydia had said about the gypsy reading people’s feelings was true, there was a pretty good fucking chance this fortune teller loon would save Minho the trouble of confessing to Thomas. But did that stop him from charging after his companion like the lovestruck idiot he really was? No. Of fucking course not.

Thomas gave a startled yelp that turned into a nervous giggle as his companion came rocketing at him, all flailing limbs and uncoordinated stumbling as he turned to bolt off towards the radiant tent in some pathetic attempt to escape the oncoming freight train that was Minho. However, Thomas was, in fact, the Keeper’s best Runner and; after a few first panic clouded, careening steps, the kid straightened and tore off through the crowded fairgrounds as if fire was licking at his heels. (No, wolfy, there would be no licking of anyone’s heels. It’s a metaphor! Stop being such a weirdo for two seconds, for the love of the gods, please.)

Minho didn’t miss a beat, narrowing his dark eyes in determination and giving chase after the wry brunette as Thomas suddenly swerved left, disappearing into the mess of food stalls and fairgoers with the Asian on his tail (No pun intended.) The werewolf smoothly maneuvered through the confounding terrain, dodging around children playing games and ducking under low hanging signs advertising nothing more than an indiscernible blur of color at the speed he was currently going. All the while, he kept Thomas locked in his sights, letting everything that wasn’t his prey fade into the background to be worried about later.

Adrenaline pumped through Minho’s veins, coursing through his blood and driving him to run. To chase. To hunt. The delicious scent of his mate was heightened with a slight edge of fear, mixing with the sweet scent of excitement to create an irresistible concoction that drove the werewolf after the boy and left his usual policy of restraining supernatural advantage when playing with Thomas in the dust.  _ Hunt. Claim. _ His wolf snarled hungrily, loving the challenge his fiery, spirited, gutsy little mate posed and eager to meet it - Though it was even more eager to win the promised prize. 

Thomas was no easy prey though, which is what made him such a desirable bounty. The brunette veered off to the side once more, abruptly planting his feet and pivoting on the spot, disappearing into the throng of the stalls as pride swelled in Minho’s chest - He had trained his breathtaking Runner so well. 

Minho skidded to a haphazard halt and threw his body to the side, feet skidding on the dusty earth as he struggled to change course as abruptly as his lithe, cunning, fox of a mate could. The werewolf stilled for a moment, eyes scanning the crowded, chaotic scene for a sign of his coveted victim and finding nothing. A hungry growl escaped the wolf, causing a few people he couldn’t bring himself to worry about to sensibly shuffle away, as most knew it was probably a bad idea to stand near a near shaking, snarling teenage boy. The teenager’s heart pounded with the thrill of the hunt and his mouth watered as his desperate, starved wolf demanded he find his tempting prey. 

“Looking for someone?” Came a teasing voice from somewhere behind the Asian and he whipped around to see Thomas back behind him, a few feet away and now nearing the gaudily decorated tent that marked the end of their game. The elusive teen must've doubled back right after leading the werewolf into the disorienting throng of stalls - Of course, Minho’s wolf simply preened, completely enraptured with his perfect mate’s obvious intelligence and capability, loving the brunette's ability to equal him.

Minho was off like a shot, barrelling towards his friend with renewed determination and vowing to let nothing get in his way. Prey drive overcame the werewolf as Thomas neared his destination, sending fire though the Asian’s veins as he torpedoed after this soon to be victim, his desire to capture and conquer his mate turning into a dire need. Humanity was absent from the chase and Minho tore off after his beloved, the need to catch his perfect prey stealing away the Asian’s self control as he swerved around vendors and pushed himself to the limit. 

Minho was gaining on his Runner, the distance between them closing rapidly but Thomas was dangerously near his destination and desire fueled his hunter into an animalistic frenzy as the space between them depleted. The wolf pushed himself to clear that last bit of space, not willing to lose now when he was so close, but a large wooden table became visible as he ran, sitting in the middle of the path and blocking the Asian’s direct line of attack. 

The item came flying forward to meet the werewolf as he refused to slow his breakneck pace and when the Asian finally reached the thing he didn’t think before slamming one hand into the center of the wooden surface and vaulting his body across the expanse of it - Efficiently throwing “act normal” out the nearest window but not giving the slightest beginnings of a fuck as his feet slammed back onto the ground underfoot and he continued the pursuit without missing a beat. The wolf raced to put distance behind himself with no regard to much of anything else, only having eyes for his prize, who he was now coming up on at a merciless pace. 

Logical thought was abandoned, leaving only instincts and urges to drive Minho as he finally closed in on his prey, growing only inches away from the wry brunette who had so foxily evaded him all this time, though all the teen’s efforts had done was fuel the wolf’s desire to hunt him.  There was merely a hair breadth between the hunter and his prize and Minho knew he had his victim caught, the thrill of a successful chase alighting inside him with an animalistic triumph.

Which is why it wasn’t all that surprising that Minho pounced on Thomas like a wild beast launching out of the weeds onto an unsuspecting antelope rather than merely reaching out and grabbing him like any normal human being would. (That was, if normal human beings chased their love interests down like rabbits, of course.)

The weight of Minho combined with the momentum of his fierce pursuit sent the lithe teen the wolf had been chasing flying, literally taking Thomas off of his feet and sending the pair airborne for a brief moment before they slammed into the ground. The boys rolled once with the force of the blow, sending Minho tumbling over Thomas before landing him back on top again as they finally skidded to a halt. 

“Shit! Sorry, Thomas, are you good?” Minho questioned feverishly, the words pouring out of his mouth a mile a minute as concern immediately came to replace his lust driven prey drive, the familiar, stomach twisting sensation of guilt coming to accompany it. The feelings crashed over him like a tsunami, the stark contrast from the excitement of the hunt leaving the Asian cold and empty, as if an icy hand had reached through his chest and closed its frigid fingers over his heart. The thought of hurting his precious mate, even if it was purely accidental, made the Keeper queasy. 

Except, then Thomas started laughing and suddenly everything was okay with the world once more. The brunette's apparent ability to send Minho’s emotions from one extreme to the other in mere moments was simply astonishing and rather terrifying in the grand scheme of things - Terrifying and wonderful. Minho loved the things his mate did to him, really. (When it didn’t result in horrible stomach churning feelings of fear, of course. That did seem to be a more common orrucance than most would think.) 

“Jesus Christ, Minho!” The gorgeous boy snickered out breathlessly, his face flushed from running and his breaths coming in short, quick gasps that left his mouth hanging slightly open as he flopped his head back against the ground, revealing Minho’s wolf’s apparent favorite spot - If the sudden, desperate tug the werewolf felt in response to the display was anything to go by - for the second time that night. Really, if the Keeper didn’t know better, he’d say his Runner did things like this on purpose. 

Minho had honestly convinced himself Thomas couldn’t get any hotter, but, hey you learn something new every day… And today Minho learned Thomas looked fucking amazing underneath him. The smaller boy looked completely wrecked, all sweat soaked hair and body trembling with exhaustion as the fight visibly drained out of the teen and he went lax under the wolf. Now, this would be a horrible time to get a boner so if Minho could just control-

“You caught me.” Thomas mumbled slowly, opening his hazel orbs slightly to stare up at his captor through half lidded orbs and his already intoxicating scent sweetened with that newfound drug of a scent that left Minho weak in the knees and practically starving for his mate. Yeah. This was doing absolutely nothing to keep that boner down. Minho was basically fucked - And not in the way he’d like. The way that involved Thomas in this exact position, preferably not on the ground in front of dozens of gawking fairgoers. A bed would be nice. Yeah. Thomas on a bed, pinned underneath him, exhausted and conquered… Wow. Minho was really bad at this whole “let’s not get horny on top of our best friend” thing.

“Yeah.” The werewolf replied dumbly, his mind a hazy mess of love and want incapable of coherent thought at the moment. All he wanted to do was gather his sweet, wrecked prey up off this undeserving ground and carry his prize away somewhere private where he could hoard his winnings all to himself and enjoy his conquered boy.

“Are you two just gonna sit there and be gay all day or are you gonna get in here and let me do my job?”


	15. Where, Oh Where is Wolfy's Wallet

Minho jolted back into reality faster than a fat guy could wolf down a plate of pancakes, startled by the unexpected speaker and even more taken aback by her actual words - He was being so subtle! Well, except that part where he had just chased Thomas across the entirety of the fairgrounds before pouncing on the boy as if he were a walking filet mignon… But besides that he was being a perfect picture of straight-dom.

The wolf whipped his gaze toward where the voice had come from and his eyes landed on the base of the tent they’d toppled just in front of, the one with all the orange lights and red beads hanging over until it looked more like a discount whore than a tent. The Asian saw nothing out of the ordinary, however, save for enough beadwork to put any jewelry maker out of business, and blinked in confusion.

“Up here, predator.” Came the voice again and Minho let his eyes travel upwards until he finally found a woman poking her head out from farther up the tent’s front flap and glaring down at them from above like a scornful parent might glare at their teenage daughter who snuck out to see her boyfriend and forgot to leave a pillow replica of herself in her bed. 

At first, Minho was confused by the woman’s odd statement but then reality caught up with him and he figured out that sitting on Thomas’s chest was probably not on the list of “normal, heterosexual behavior” he was supposed to be adhering to - Which was totally understandable because with his gorgeous, conquered mate pinned underneath him, Minho was feeling anything but heterosexual.

The wolf scrambled to his feet in an instant, ready to bite back a snarky response to the woman who just had to come ruin his moment and somehow saw right through his impeccable facade of straight-ness. Before worrying about the speaker, however, the wolf extended a hand down to his still dazed mate, who had failed to pull himself up off the ground or even really react to the sudden change of events quite yet.  _ We have such an effect on him.  _ Minho’s wolf preened proudly, satisfied with how efficiently he’d broken the pretty boy and wanting nothing more than to devour his helpless little prey now that he’d torn his mate’s defenses down.

Instead of ravaging Thomas as he so wanted to, however, Minho wrapped his hand around the smaller boy’s and pulled his companion back to his feet, efficiently breaking the trance the brunette had fallen into and reawakening his friend to the world around them. The teen's hazel orbs instantly fell on the woman as clarity returned to their endless depths, widening slightly in recognition as if the Runner had just realized what the newcomer had witnessed and his pretty face flushed a enticing shade of deep pink. 

“Just come in already. You’re here to have your fortunes read, aren’t you?” The woman dismissed the awkward moment with a wave of her hand, the variety of rings and beads adorning her digits jingling merrily with the action as she turned and re-entered the tent without waiting for a response. 

Thomas glanced over at Minho, looking slightly hesitant and more than a little embarrassed, cheeks twinged pink and and lower lip held lightly between his teeth, but all the wolf could offer his companion was a simple shrug and with that they followed the mysterious woman inside. 

The interior of the tent was no more modestly decorated than its outside, gaudy tapestries hanging from every wall and low hanging beads suspended from the ceiling, brushing against Minho’s shoulders and swaying softly with his movement as the Asian diligently followed his friend. It was thanks to supernaturally enhanced sight alone that the Keeper didn’t run smack into the lithe silhouette that was his beautifully built boy in front of him. Apparently, gypsies are nocturnal creatures gifted with night vision, because the only light prevailing in the darkened tent was a single illuminated ball that sat in the middle of a small circular table in the center of the room and cast the tent in a dim, unnatural glow that revealed only a few meters around it. 

“Fuck!” Thomas hissed loudly, efficiently breaking the calm, mystic atmosphere settled over the tent as a dull thump sounded and the boy stumbled back into Minho, who gripped the smaller teen by both arms and tugged him backwards, shoving his mate back and positioning his own body between the Runner and the rest of the tent to shield the boy. 

“Oh yes, watch out for that box.” The woman they’d followed inside chided distractedly, her voice dismissive as her shadowy silhouette moved in front of the glowing sphere and she came to sit on the opposite side of the table, facing the boys and leaning in over the glowing orb. 

“Yes, Minho, watch out for that box.” Thomas hissed annoyedly and rubbed his shin with a huff of irritation before continuing on toward the small table, proceeding much slower this time and keeping his gaze locked in front of his feet.  

“Some of us aren’t as accident prone as a walking disaster.” Minho snarked jovially, flicking the kid in front of him in the back of the head and earning himself a sharp elbow thrown back behind his friend, the limb just catching the wolf in the side as the Asian swerved to dodge the playful blow. However, the Keeper’s skillful maneuver resulted in him running smack into some low rising, wooden item, obviously positioned there solely to spite him, with a loud thump as his knee cap slammed painfully into the sharp corner of the thing. 

“And that one.” The fortune teller advised belatedly, gesturing vaguely with a hand waving at her side to indicate the cursed item of which she spoke as Thomas finally reached the table and pulled out one of the chairs across from the woman and scrambled into it with a poorly muffled snicker. 

“Little late.” Minho growled bitterly under his breath as he finally reached his companion’s side and yanked out the chair beside the brunette, gripping the item with one hand and lugging it backwards with a haphazard tug before dropping his body into it with one last indignant huff.

Now that her guests were finally both seated, the woman straightened in her chair and abruptly squeezed her eyes closed without bothering to explain a single thing, sucking in a deep breath as if preparing for something extraordinary. She froze like that for a long moment, straight as a board and appearing more like a statue than a living creature in that instant as silence settled over the scene like a thick blanket pulled out of a grandparent’s dusty attic.

The moment stretched on until it hit awkward territory and Minho chanced a glance over at Thomas to see if the brunette, perhaps, had some sort of understanding of what the hell was happening because all the werewolf was getting from this scene was that the fortune teller had died on the spot and that they’d soon be charged with her murder. 

Thomas turned his head slightly to meet his companion’s questioning gaze, keeping his hazel eyes locked suspiciously on the statue of a chick as he moved before very briefly flashing his orbs over to the wolf with a sharp shrug, looking no more well informed than his friend.  

Minho was just about to return the gesture and maybe suggest backing out of the tent slowly before the police came when the serenity of the scene broke with a loud, breathy gasp from the woman that absolutely did not startle the supernatural badass into jumping slightly in his seat. 

The girl began to shake, her entire body shuddering with harsh tremors as her eyes rolled back toward the ceiling and her hands came down to grip the wooden table like a lifeline, her long, red, fake nails leaving gouges in the surface of the thing as if it were the only anchor holding her to this world. 

Minho pushed his chair back from the table in a scrambling, uncoordinated frenzy, nearly falling out of the thing in his rush as he reached out and grabbed Thomas by the back of his shirt. The werewolf hauled his mate backwards, yanking the boy out of his chair and dragging the brunette back towards himself until his Runner nearly collapsed into him, all flailing limbs that nearly clipped Minho in the face as Thomas collided with the wolf and they both fell into Minho’s chair in a tangle of limbs and bodies as each tried to grasp at the other in search of comfort and protection, creating a horrible knot that any sailor would be made sick to look at. 

Hey, it wasn’t overreacting, really. The woman looked fucking terrifying! The glass orb on the table that, mere moments ago, had just been faintly lummincent now beamed out light like the woman’s tent was the hottest club in town and it was a Saturday Night Rave, casting the fortune teller’s face in a eerie blue light that looked unnatural and left dark shadows under her gaudily painted eyes. Her long, auburn hair looked pale white in the radiance of the new found light and Minho was pretty sure her pupils had up and eloped because he could not, for the life of him, find them as her eyes rolled back farther than could possibly be considered healthy. 

“The spirits, I hear them!” The woman declared in a voice that was as quiet and breathless as a whisper but as ragged and urgent as a scream. “They… They’re saying…” The girl continued shakily, her voice wavering and shril as she paused every few moments to let another harsh tremor course through her body. “They’re saying they need twenty bucks to continue this service.” The fortune teller finally gasped out before abruptly collapsing on the table, her mysterious ball dimming back to its normal glow as she slumped against the wooden surface of the object. 

Minho didn’t bother resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatic theatrics and began the tedious task of untangling himself from the long limbed, brunette boy that was all but in his lap after the initial scare. The wolf only hoped Thomas couldn't feel the absolute exploding bass drum solo his heart had decided to begin playing but considering the Runner was still pressed tight up against the werewolf’s chest, apparently still not quite over the shock, that naive hope was probably in vain. Maybe Thomas would just blame it on the fear they’d just experienced, the brunette did have a certain nack for being completely oblivious to Minho’s increasingly obvious affections.  

“Let’s swear to never speak of this show of cowardice ever again.” Thomas huffed lightly, his face twinged a deep shade of pink that was probably due to embarrassment from allowing himself to be startled by some dumb woman’s little show and not for any other reason whatsoever. Most certainly not because the kid still had his hands twisted in the fabric of his companion’s shirt or because Minho still had a strong arm encircling the brunette, still not having quite convinced his wolf to let go as it was sure actual danger could still spring up and snatch his mate away. 

“Agreed.” Minho huffed out breathlessly, really trying to let the world believe the lack of air in his lungs was due to the minor heart attack he’d just endured and not the brunette boy fitted snugly into his lap, still not having untangled himself from the wolf and doing absolutely horrible things to Minho’s respiratory system. 

Speaking of the eventual cause of Minho’s inevitable cardiac arrest, he pushed himself up by way of splaying both hands across the broad expanse of the werewolf’s chest and pressing down against the sturdy structure until he rose. The teen came eyelevel with Minho and grinned, a slight breath of a snicker escaping his full, pink lips as his hazel eyes glimmered with amusement now that the foolishness of their reaction had been made evident and- Wow. Yeah. Minho was legitimately going to melt into a puddle of uselessness if Thomas kept this up. A huge, nasty pool of uselessness right there on the floor. 

Minho was totally about to deliver a super cool one liner that would woo Thomas to his knees when his plans tied themselves to a set of train tracks and sung along to the lovely sound of a freight whistle blowing.  Meaning, of course, that Thomas decided to reach around behind the back of the chair and carefully slip his lithe fingers into the pocket where Minho kept the wallet containing their combined funds, because apparently that took priority over actually removing himself from his companion’s lap - So, basically, Thomas just ruined Minho’s ability to speak properly for the next twenty years. 

Minho had never seen this coming, really. It wasn’t like he put himself in charge of the pair’s money in the hopes that one day a situation like this may occur - This was just… An added benefit. 

Minho had put himself in charge of their money because Thomas was, admittedly, the most forgetful person to ever exist and it was no secret whatsoever which one of them was the more responsible of the two - Seriously, Minho had Kept about twenty runners for two years and had only lost, like... Nineteen. Well, he kept Thomas safe, okay? So just take his word for it he was more responsible than his oblivious crush that would undoubtedly loose his own head if it wasn’t attached to his body and still might even then if it wasn’t for Minho constantly worrying over him and keeping him from harm’s way. It was just instinct to protect someone that careless, really. 

Thomas’s pink lips turned down slightly in a frown as he failed to procure his goal immediately and the boy shifted about experimentally in search of a better angle - All he was going to find if he kept that up, however, was Minho’s boner as one usually tends to become aroused when the object of their desires was practically grinding against their lap and Minho was exceptionally arousable when it came to Thomas and all his unknowing torture. 

The wolf’s heart was attempting a reenactment of the civil war as he compliantly lifted his ass in hopes of aiding his questing friend, who was now practically straddling the Asian in the small wooden chair in a way that rich men would've paid thousands for, one arm slung around the Keeper’s neck for stability while the other groped blindly in search of the missing wallet. Thin, skilled fingers swept across the curve of Minho’s jeans, pressing and feeling with methodical precision as the wolf bit down on his lower lip to smother what was undoubtedly going to be an absolutely wanton groan if he let it escape. 

Minho’s wolf  _ whined.  _ Literally keening out a desperate whimper of untold want as the Keeper tried to think about anything but the way his hips were angled upwards and pressing against the course material of Thomas’s own jeans. His usual method of boner kill - picturing saggy grandma tits - was rendered useless in his current situation as there was absolutely no ignoring the pressure of his mate perched so prettily atop him or the feel of perfect, careful fingers squeezing their way around the expanse of the Keeper’s ass cheek.

Yeah, okay, point proven, universe. You could stop this ungodly torment now. The werewolf had learned his lesson and would appreciate not dying of blue balls anytime soon - Maybe it was more than instinct that had the werewolf protecting the younger boy like he was some sort of Jade Buddha in a classic Jackie Chan movie in which everyone was after this one pointless statue for some inexplicable reason, okay? He was completely and wholeheartedly enraptured, fine? You happy? But Thomas was his and he wasn’t about to let anything lay a scratch on his precious mate. 

Apparently, the universe was not so forgiving - Minho would like to say it was a cold, unkind thing but really he could find nothing unkind about his predicament, quite the opposite in fact. Especially when Thomas gave up on his earlier quest and instead splayed his hand on Minho’s thigh and decided running his palm along the inside of the muscle would be a totally fine thing to do while still straddling his supposedly platonic best friend. 

“Did you put it in your front pocket?” The brunette questioned in explanation for his sudden change of groping tactic, bringing the hand that had been wrapped around the wolf’s neck around to brace on the Asian’s chest instead as the younger boy leaned back to get a look at his companion’s front pocket. 

Minho tried to reply, that no, he was pretty damn sure he’d put it in his back pocket but all that came out was the most unmasculine squeak the Asian had ever uttered that tried to end in a breathy moan despite the fact that the werewolf immediately clamped his jaws shut once more to smother the sound. 

“Huh, if you’re really sure I guess I’ll try the other side.” Thomas replied with a shrug, apparently knowing Minho well enough to somehow translate that disgrace of a sound and immediately slipping his devilish hand back around to feel around his companion’s untouched ass cheek, his other hand sliding up Minho’s chest to wrap around his neck once more as the younger teen leaned forward.

Minho was on fire. There was no other possible words to describe what this felt like. His heart was a burning pool of molten lava and its heat spread through his body until every limb tingled with the heat of the lapping flames, leaving the werewolf practically trembling as he fought to keep his ravenous beast under restraints. The urge to simply grab his mate’s perfect hips to keep him in place while the wolf devoured the sexy boy and drove his own hips upwards until his love was broken and claimed was practically overwhelming and all Minho wanted was to hear his mate moan for him. 

His eyes were glowing, there was no question about that. There was no hope of holding back the luminescent blue glow as his wolf strained to break free of the thin tethers that were Minho’s self control and the wolf was pretty sure his fangs were already making a guest appearance considering it was taking everything the Asian had just to keep his nails blunt and unclawed, unwilling to accidentally dig his mini daggers into the soft flesh of Thomas’s hips where his hands had instinctually come to rest, wrapping around the curve of the boy’s waist with his thumb brushing gently against the bone.

So, maybe Minho didn’t exactly think it through before burying his face in Thomas’s neck to hide his canine features from sight… 

The already struggling werewolf’s world became a haze of  _ mate  _ \- Thomas’s sweet scent flooded the wolf’s senses and left them dull as his mind became a blank slate. Honey and sunshine with a hint of lemon all combined together with the underlying smell of happiness that Minho would do anything to scent on his boy all the time, would literally kill to keep his baby smelling like that. Besides that was a heavy overtone of that addictive, unignorable sweetness that left Minho’s wolf salivating and blew all of the Asian’s self control away in a single breath. It was manipulating, controlling, there was no way Minho could deny its pull and, with Thomas literally straddling his lap, the Keeper wasn’t quite sure he wanted too. 

Actually, the wolf was absolutely positive that he wanted to do nothing less than fight his urge to mark what was his. He wanted to bite, to lick, to  _ claim.  _ He wanted Thomas to be his and he wanted everyone to know it - To see his claiming bite on the boy’s gorgeous, pale flesh and know that the brunette was his. Taken. To be touched and tainted by him alone and unquestionably off limits. He wanted to bite.  He wanted to claim. He wanted Thomas.

“Oh! Here it is!” Thomas declared victoriously and rose from the seat in a single smooth motion, brandishing the wallet above his head like a trophy and grinning excitedly at his companion who could do naught but give a weak and shaky smile in return -  Not sure if he was thankful for the sudden removal of his tempting mate or not...


	16. Gaze Into My Crystal Ball

Thomas quickly gathered the needed cash in a collection of loose and wrinkled bills and placed it on the table in front of the woman who had failed to move during Minho’s most recent encounter with death. (Not an exaggeration. He totally could have keeled over any second there) As soon as the cash had been produced, however, it was as if someone had flipped a switch in the gypsy's brain and she was back to life, shooting upright as her obscure luminescent orb beamed out a radiant glow that left Minho blinking against the sudden onslaught of piercing light. 

Thomas let out a groan beside the wolf at the display, throwing one long arm over his eyes as the fortune teller reached out a slow hand and snached the bills away as soon as her gaudily decorated hand hung over them and it was all Minho could do to refrain from swooping his precious mate into his arms to shield the boy’s gorgeous, sensitive orbs. 

“Gaze into my crystal ball.” The fortune teller encouraged the moment she had her cash clasped in her gaudy fake nails, stuffing the wrinkled dollars away before craning over her supposive crystal orb of magic - It looked a lot like cheap plexiglass with a few neon lights shoved in it to Minho.

Nevertheless, Thomas leaned forward excitedly, blinking harshly a few times as if trying to be accustomed to the brightness of the thing, but soon staring wide eyed at the contraption as if the boy truly expected it to whisper the shaded secrets of his future to him. It was so cute - Jesus Christ, fuck him with a stick, Minho was seriously going to burst an artery if Thomas kept doing things like this to his heart rate every two seconds.

“There are deep shadows shrouding your past, dark and overbearing. I can barely make out the shapes of your history.” The woman informed softly, staring intently into the radiant sphere with squinted eyes as she moved her hands along its surface in long, slow motions, as if she half expected to dissipate the shadows with her movements. 

“Yeah. That would make sense.” Thomas huffed humorlessly, obviously referring to the simple fact that he himself could not see his past longer than a few months back, let alone  some chick with enough eyeliner to drown a cow staring into a cheap party decoration. 

Minho reached under the table to give the younger male’s leg a comforting squeeze and the brunette soon rested his hand atop the wolf’s, giving the appendage a long squeeze of his own but not removing himself afterwards, leaving their hands to rest together over the teen’s leg.  

“I can see long hallways. Lab coats.” The woman continued, gazing hard into the blue light of her ball and running her tongue thoughtfully over her lower lips, smearing her deep purple lipstick in the process. “Tests and data.” The fortune teller listed off monotonously, tilting her head slightly as if trying to see deeper into the glass world.

Thomas nodded along to the reading, looking attentive and impressed, seeming to agree the story went along with what knowledge he did possess about his shrouded past.

Wolfy, of course, wanted to butt its head under Thomas’s hand until attention was back on him and urged the Keeper to do any sort of insane feat to make himself the source of Thomas’s impressed-ness. However, Minho had to admit that even he was a little awed at the accuracy of the woman’s readings thus far, though he’d never say it outloud and was determined to remain skeptical - But honestly, there was no point. He was a fucking werewolf, with claws, and fangs, and fur, and the whole shebang so why would it be so hard to accept the notion that fortune tellers were a thing? 

“There was someone!” The woman abruptly declared cheerily, pulling back from the ball and straightening her back slightly as a smile spread across her face, apparently pleased that she’d finally tapped into something of interest. “Someone close to you… Closer than anyone.” The fortune teller continued excitedly, running her hands hurriedly over the surface of the glass orb before letting them drop to the table, as if she’d finally found something with a strong enough connection to see past the shadows without all the gesturing. 

Minho gulped, swallowing thickly as his pulse picked up and he tried his best to look like an individual who had no dim recollection of being in love with his best friend in a past life whatsoever. 

“Hidden in dark hallways, the briefest brush of lips against lips when no one was watching…”The fortune teller mused softly, leaning back to get a better look at the ball. “There was something else about this person though.” The girl informed carefully, craning back over the sphere and squinting her eyes in concentration as she stared into the light blue glow of the item, confusion written all over her face. 

“Like what?” Thomas questioned curiously, leaning forward and scooching his chair a little closer to the table as his hazel orbs fixed on the ball, as if he half expected it to start displaying the mysteries of his past life like a movie projector. 

“Something,” The fortune teller began than paused for a long moment, biting her lip and looking slightly anxious. “Inhuman.” The woman concluded suspiciously, face darkening as she gazed into the ambiance of her luminescent sphere. “It changes.” The girls started uncomfortably, pulling back slightly from the table as if disgruntled by her own premonitions. “You knew, you  _ saw, _ and yet you still loved that…” The woman paused again, this time to twist her face into a look of disgust. “Abomination.”  

Minho tensed in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable in the tiny tent that now seemed to crowd in around him and he lowered his eyes to the floor, the paranoid fear that the fortune teller could look into them and see what he truly was gripping his heart and casting fear over him like a heavy blanket. 

“Can you tell me about my future?” Thomas interjected hastily, looking no more comfortable with the entire situation than anyone else in the room and apparently eager to move on from the subject. The brunette did, however, reach out a searching hand until it found Minho’s and intertwined their digits to give a comforting squeeze -  The kid must've felt his companion tense up, it was the only explanation that made any sense. 

The fortune teller hesitated, still looking rather unhappy about whatever she had seen, but after a moment she shrugged and swiped her hand over the glowing sphere in a slow swirling motion, twirling her fingers over the crest of the device until she finally pulled back again. “The abomination is still with you.” The woman informed blankly, looking entirely unimpressed.

Thomas, on the other hand, perked up interestedly, his teeth gnawing into his lower lip thoughtfully and Minho swore he could almost see the gears in his friend’s head grinding together in thought. The boy never got much of a chance to really consider that new information, however, as the woman began speaking again almost instantly, apparently uninterested in dwelling on that subject any longer.

“I sense great misfortune in your future, young one.” The fortune teller whispered pityingly, her eyes softening some as a frown pulled at her violet painted lips. 

“No surprise there.” Thomas snorted unbotheredly, leaning back in his chair and looking far too accustomed to unavoidable pain and suffering than anyone his age should be, or anyone should be, really. 

Minho, on the other hand, was absolutely not fine with this ominous premonition in any way, shape, or form. The wolf bit back a protective growl as he leaned forward to fix the woman with a hard stare, the fear that had him reluctant to gaze into her eyes a moment ago gone in light of something endangering his mate. “Explain.” Was all the Asian was able to bite out without snarling, and even that single word had the gravelly lowness of a growl about it as the Keeper instinctively moved closer to his Runner, pressing against the brunette’s side as his wolf refused to be restrained to anything less.

“The type of suffering caused only by separation from those who we care most about.” The woman sighed sadly, looking truly sorry for the fact. “Be wary of those you trust because…” The fortune teller began but then stopped dead, her voice cracking out as lips her came to fall agape and her eyes blew wide as an untold horror came to fill them. 

“What is it?” Minho pressed urgently, the words coming out far more like a snarl then he’d intended them too, though he honestly could not bring himself to care in the slightest with the promise of danger befalling his precious mate hanging over the wolf like a dark cloud of foreboding coming to pour its horrible acid rain of fear upon him.

“The-” The fortune teller began in a choked voice but struggled to get the rest out as she merely pointed a single, shaking finger at the crystal ball, as if forgetting her guests could see none of what was swirling in those murky depths in her panic. “The black eyes!” The woman shuddered out in a strangled mix of a scream and a whisper, her face going ashy white as she pushed back from the table and scrambled upright with such fervor that Minho was concerned the ball may burst into flames any moment or some other such immediate danger would make itself known. 

However, there was no sudden explosion or abrupt attack from within and the only thing that did happen was the fortune teller came rushing over to the pair and threw her arms out in a frantic gesture to get out. “Leave me! Take your curse elsewhere, damned ones!” The woman gasped breathlessly, suddenly drawing back as far from the Glader’s as she could possibly get in the small tent, swooping to the opposite side of the tiny room and pressing herself against the canvas wall, shrinking into herself and staring at them as if Satan himself was perched on their shoulders. 

“Okay, lady, calm down!” Thomas complied hastily, rising from his chair and holding his hands up in a pacifying gesture as he began backing up slowly from the scene, confusion etched all over his pretty face.

Minho couldn’t convince himself to say anything, staring at the curled up woman with a lookin of numb terror, horrified by all he heard and unable to shake himself into movement. “What-?” The wolf tried once more, desperate for information and shaken to the core at the implications of this batty bitch’s words. He needed to know all he could if he were to protect his mate, most pressing on the list of things Minho would like to know, of course, being what the fuck he needed to protect the boy from. 

“Leave, you, run back to your tainted friends! The bearer of the demon hides among you, yet you are blind! His damned puppet and his victim are already unsalvageable, just leave!” The fortune teller screeched, digging her hands into her hair as she began to tremble, the sound of a broken sob escaping her as she tried to shrink further into herself.

“Minho, let’s just go.” Thomas whispered from the wolf’s side, lithe fingers coming to brush against where Minho’s hands had balled themselves into tight fists, knuckles pale from the tension as their owner fought back the urge to hold his claws against this stupid woman’s throat until she told him clearly what was coming for his mate and how the wolf could protect the one he loved. 

The Asian hesitated for a long moment, tense as a board and completely still as he glared hard at the fortune teller and dimly wondered if his eyes were glowing but found himself unable to muster up the effort to care at the moment. The woman had said something was coming with the intent to make his Thomas - His  _ mate  _ \- suffer and now she refused to give information? The werewolf growled low and dangerous, the need to protect his precious boy easily winning out against the need to keep his secret. Keeping Thomas safe was more important. 

“Minho.” Thomas whispered again, a little more urgently this time, and his smooth fingers prodded against the Keeper’s balled fist persistently until the wolf finally untensed the digits and let the brunette entwine their fingers together, the boiling anger fueling the werewolf draining almost instantly at the touch. Thomas urged the wolf towards the flap they’d entered tentatively, guiding his companion with their joint hands as the brunette began moving towards the exit, the low hanging beads brushing against the kid’s shoulders as Minho reluctantly followed, his wolf still snarling but choosing to follow its mate rather than stay and dismember some dumb bitch. 

The cool air of the outdoors soon brushed against Minho’s skin, the icy sensation easing some of the enraged flames burning through his veins but it was no secret that it was only Thomas’s steady grip on the Asian’s hand that kept him from wolfing out right then and there. The Keeper let his gaze take in the scene outside as a distraction, noticing the way the sky had gone almost completely black during the time they’d been at the fair, letting the teen know they’d been their much longer than it felt like. 

More importantly, the Keeper noted that the moon was merely a single sliver away from being full, the luminescent almost-sphere huge and looming in the sky, overbearing in its fullness - As if someone had taken a sharpie and scrawled “foreshadowing” across it in huge, bold letters. Minho told himself that he was probably being fucking paranoid but legends were not something to be toyed with in this place, apparently, so the teen truly had no idea what to expect with the first full-moon out of Wicked’s control. 

For all the teen knew, he might be completely unaffected... Or he may actually transform into a literal wolf for the night and wouldn't that be a trip? Minho could picture it now, himself a huge, snarling animal intent on licking Thomas’s face and growling at anyone that got too close… Well, actually, Minho was kinda doing all that already, wolf or no wolf, so maybe the difference wouldn’t be too obvious? 

Thomas was known for his obliviousness after all, maybe the kid would just fail to pick up on the fact that the Asian had gotten much hairier - Mark it off as Minho not shaving or something. After all, Thomas had somehow stayed blind to the fact that Minho was absolutely head over heels for him, and the fact that he was a goddamn werewolf, even after that time the Runner found his Keeper rubbing one of the brunette’s shirts against his face in an attempt to get his scent all over it so everyone would smell him on his mate… Who the hell knows what excuse Thomas made up for that one in his head. Minho had a cotton fetish? Guess that was better than the teen deducing that what the wolf actually had was a Thomas fetish. 

“It’ll be okay.” Thomas whispered at his side and gave his companion’s hand a comforting squeeze, looking slightly shaken but overall relatively calm for someone who’d just been told they were doomed to suffer unbearable pain and trauma - The observation not leaving Minho feeling guiltless as the notion that his mate had already endured torment beyond the point of numbness left the wolf feeling as if he’d failed to protect his treasure thus far and the Asian vowed to guard that which was most important better this time. Gypsy predictions or no gypsy predictions, Minho wouldn’t let anything happen to Thomas. 

Minho opened his mouth with the intent to tell Thomas this, ready to speak something along the lines of  _ I’ll protect you  _ or  _ I won’t let anything happen to you  _ but what came out instead was actually a super comforting, totally convincing, “Yeah,” as the wolf choked on his own words and bit his lip before he could let anything too stupid spill forth.

But Thomas must’ve gotten the message, he always was good at reading Minho despite the Keeper’s apparent inability to utter a simple phrase in the brunette’s presence, because the kid interlaced their fingers and his sweet scent, which had been carrying an acid edge of fear for so long Minho had almost become numb to it, ebbed into the calming aroma of content. 

This, of course, left Minho wanting to bury his face into his mate’s neck and inhale that wonderful, mesmerizing smell of peace and ease upon him, wanting nothing more than to make that amazing calm remain in his boy forever. The Keeper’s wolf relaxed as its mate did and beamed with pride at the fact that he had managed to make his baby feel that way, loving the idea that Thomas felt safe with him, trusted Minho to protect him… It helped that the brunette kept their fingers interlaced even after the tense moment passed, leaving their hands locked as they began to move away from the bat-shit crazy bitch and her weird premonitions and never letting go even when they caught sight of the rest of the pack gathered nearby and ran to meet them.

 

Huh. So holding hands was something they did now. Nice. 

 


	17. Finally Heading Home

“Hey, there you guys are!” Scott greeted enthusiastically as the pair approached, grinning excitedly and flagging them over in case they’d somehow missed the small heard of teenagers waiting for them. 

“Dude, I’m not sure which gypsy you went to, but it can’t have been that one!” Thomas jokingly informed Lydia with a disgruntled shudder as they finally reached the group.

“Really?” Lydia questioned confusedly, cocking her head slightly and looking thoughtful as both Thomas and Minho shook their heads adamantly, though neither made any moves to elaborate.

“She’s batshit.” Minho merely huffed out in explanation, still never removing his hand from where it was wrapped tightly around Thomas’s, revelling in the secure feeling keeping his digits tightly intertwined with the long, warm fingers of the younger boy brought. With the constant, subtle touch, the wolf could be sure of his mate’s presence and safety. 

“That sucks man, did she tell you we’re all doomed?” Stiles joked lightly, drawing out the oo in doomed and wiggling his fingers in a display of ghostly spookiness, snickering slightly as he did so.

“Something like that.”  Thomas sighed dryly, the reminder nearly eliciting a protective growl from his companion as the Asian instinctively tightened his grip on the boy’s hand and edged a few inches closer to the fragile brunette, his wolf on edge and certain phantoms were about to rise from the earth underfoot to steal his mate away - The werewolf didn’t miss the way Derek scooched a little closer to Stiles either, letting the Keeper know his fears were not entirely baseless. 

“And no one is the least bit surprised.” Isaac added humorlessly, rolling his eyes and looking utterly tired of all the world’s shit. 

“Don’t worry about it dude, she’s probably a nutcase.” Scott assured easily, waving a hand as if to brush away any totally reasonable concerns the pack may have. Minho was really starting to get the impression Scott was the overly optimistic one of the bunch and reminded himself never to trust the kid’s hopeful reassurances, no matter how well meaning they may be, trustingness like that was simply too dangerous - The only person Minho would ever truly trust was Thomas and he couldn’t help but wonder when Scott would be fucked up enough to realize he couldn’t trust the world like that.

“Or we’re all doomed.” Lydia interjected helpfully, her face bored and displeased and her tone leaving it uncertain whether she was actually joking or not as the other members of the pack each eventually shrugged their agreement, looking as if this wasn’t too far off of a reasonable possibility.

“Sounds pretty likely to me.” Stiles dismissed easily. “And, I don’t know about you damned souls, but this one would most certainly like to be well rested in preparation for judgment day.” The kid stated flatly, arms stretching upwards over his head and a long yawn forced its way past his lips as if his body were trying to prove the point. 

“Agreed.” Thomas seconded, snuggling his stuffed wolf a little tighter to his chest and leaning subtly against Minho’s side, hazel eyes blinking heavily as he reached up to rub at one.

Minho was almost shocked he hadn't picked up on Thomas’s low energy levels earlier, almost guilty at not realizing his mate needed something and now determined to provide it. Meaning, that it was taking a good bit of self restraint to resist the pressing urge to scoop his precious boy up in his arms and bundle the smaller teen off somewhere safe where the wolf could curl around him to protect his treasure while he slumbered.

For once in Minho’s life, Derek Hale, King of Being a Stubborn Asshole, actually seemed to be on the same page as him, casting a concerned gaze at Stiles as if he half expected the kid to fall asleep on the spot and Minho really couldn't honestly say he blamed the grumpy dickhead as the twin to his own favorite human did kinda look like something off The Walking Dead at the moment, all tired, half lidded eyes and dragging limbs. The Asian seriously doubted that the kid was functioning on anything like a normal sleep cycle and most certainly wasn’t getting the “six to eight hours of rest” everyone constantly preached about.

However, Minho had his own sleepyheaded pretty boy to worry about, who was actually currently resting his head against the Asian’s shoulder and looking like he very well may pass out here in the next five minutes, if not sooner. Minho totally did not wonder if it would be cool to simply let the object of his desires succumb to sleep right here in the middle of the fairgrounds so the wolf would have a chance to impress the sweet, sleepy thing with his awesome boyfriending skills - A.K.A. Totally swoon Thomas to his knees by carrying the desirable boy bridal style to the nearest bed.

“There closing up anyway, let’s head home.” Minho suggested hastily despite the apparent fact that none of the fair staff appeared to be doing any such thing and the whole event truthfully seemed to actually still be in full swing despite the late hours that were quickly approaching. Though Thomas hummed softly in agreement at the obviously false statement so that was good enough for Minho. 

“Aw, guys! Just one more ride?” Scott pleaded hopefully, widening his eyes in what could only be dubbed a “puppy dog” look as he cast his expectant gaze around the group, desperately searching for some support and ultimately finding none. Stiles yawned, Derek glared, Lydia fixed her nails, Isaac looked anywhere else and Minho was entirely unaffected by anyone’s puppy dog eyes that wasn’t Thomas, the knee weakening teen’s huge hazel orbs pretty much granting the werewolf immunity from all other, lesser pleading stares. 

Speaking of Thomas, Minho was relatively certain the only reason his kind brunette didn’t cave under Scott’s puppy dog look was because his prized possession had actually gone ahead and dozed off on the Asian’s arm, the teen’s weight slumping heavily against his Keeper’s side as Minho did his best to ignore the feeling of a steadily pooling wetness against his shoulder blade. (Okay - So maybe he was trying to ignore how endeared he felt by the fact that Thomas was drooling on him more so than the actual fact in and of itself.)

“Sorry, Scotty, think it’s gonna be a no go.” Stiles huffed sleepily, then paused as a long, drawn out yawn broke through his words and he stretched his arms high over his head. “Now stop with the puppy dog eyes, I’ve told you that’s a cheap tactic.” The wry teen scolded, wagging a disapproving finger at the other boy who merely grumbled some unintelligible protest before finally letting his eyes return to the normal size of the rest of the human race’s. 

Murmurs of agreement came up from everyone in the pack, the awareness of the late hour seemingly bringing exhaustion down upon the group as if the mere acknowledgement of the tiredness had amplified it tenfold, though Minho surprisingly felt more alert than ever. His wolf was  _ restless, _ as if his instincts were trying to tell him something was amiss though, even under the paranoid teen’s scrutinizing gaze, nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. Well, there was that odd woman who had strolled by them earlier with what looked like a full on lumberjack beard braided into a series of intricate knots and ribbons but Minho seriously doubted his wolf was this anxious over a fashion faux pas. 

Thomas startled out of his half-asleep stupor a moment later, however, blasting away thoughts of all else with a fucking two ton cannon as the dazed boy mumbled out a bleary, “Min?” That sent a battering ram straight through Minho’s weak defences, turning the wolf into a crumbly mess of debris and emotions at the sheer note of vulnerability in the half-conscious mumbling of his name, the likes of which he never expected anyone to trust him with.

“C’mon, sleeping beauty, we’re heading home.” Minho explained softly as he reached a hand up to ruffle the demolition crew of a boy’s scruffy brown locks, letting the romantic nickname slip before he could think better of it, his usual defences that kept him from spilling such endearments shot and momentarily nonexistent in light of Thomas’s inherit adorableness when he was sleepy. Embarrassment and anxiety spiked through the wolf’s system, causing him to tense away from the sleepy human as realization came swooping with its sirens blaring an endless barrage of “what the fuck are you thinking?”

“Mhm, home.” Thomas simply mumbled however, apparently too sleepy to catch onto the nickname (or unbothered by it, but Minho was not about to be the hopeful idiot that got thoughts like that in his head) as he let his hazel orbs fall shut again despite the fact that the werewolf was already beginning to urge the hapless teen into motion after the pack, who began making their way back toward the parking lot. “You’re ‘m home, Minho.” The, obviously still sleeping, boy decided to inform the flabbergasted wolf and apparently felt the need to prove his point by nuzzling his head into the absolutely stunned teen’s side as they suddenly came to a screeching halt a few paces behind their friends.

Call him Jesus, because he might as well have been crucified on the spot. Remember breathing? Breathing was nice. Minho should really try it again sometime. Not right now obviously because at the moment the wolf was almost certain he didn’t even possess lungs anymore. He must’ve left them somewhere back in the fairgrounds. Perhaps they got flung out of his body on the Tilt-A-Whirl like his brain because this was all obviously an elaborate fantasy. 

“Shut up, shank.” Minho managed to snort after a few long moments in which someone might as well have placed him in a vacuum for there was absolutely no need to grant him oxygen when he was going to fail so magnificently at making use of it. Somehow, the wolf even managed to get them walking again, though it consisted a good bit of Minho walking and Thomas simply slumping into his backside whilst being steadily pulled along by the grip the older boy got on his hand. However, it only took Thomas tripping and banging his skull painfully into the Keeper's back five or six times for Minho to accept that this obviously wasn’t working and the Asian drew them to a halt once more. 

Since Thomas was already slumped haphazardly against the wolf’s back, it wasn’t too difficult to bend his legs and get his body underneath the jello-like substance that had replaced his companion, Thomas all sagging limbs and limpness as the werewolf hooked his arms underneath the teen’s legs and pulled them up until they rested mostly on his hips. “Can you at least put your arms around my neck, you lazy little shit?” The Keeper snorted haughtily, making sure to sound totally irritated and not at all pleased that he’d gotten to show off his “look how good I can carry you” skills like he’d wanted.

Thomas complied wordlessly, his long, slim arms dangling over Minho’s shoulders and  encircling the older boy until the younger teen was simply hugging the Asian’s broad chest more or less, though maybe the boy just happened to fall against the Keeper that way, for the kid’s head slumped listlessly into the crook of his carrier’s neck where his warm breath came out soft and slow against the sensitive skin there, as if sleep had already claimed the pretty boy. 

They managed to make it to the car pretty quickly after that, no longer slowed down by Thomas’s inherit ability to fall asleep instantly no matter the circumstance and Minho quite near jogging to catch up with the rest of the pack -  _ quite _ he was not about to break into a full on run and wake the now obviously slumbering boy who was never gifted as much peaceful sleep as he deserved. The Keeper’s wolf was comforted by the presence of its pack and insisted on keeping Thomas close to them, especially when his chosen soulmate was in such a vulnerable state as he was when he was asleep, seemingly expecting the mismatched heard of teenagers to aid him in protecting his mate and determined to surround his most precious treasure in a bubble of  _ safe  _ as much as he could.

With this determination driving him, Minho had them caught back up with the rest of the herd just as they reached the parking lot and were beginning to nod their goodbyes before heading off in separate vehicles. (Translation: The poor werewolf had to witness a heat filled smooch fest as Derek seemed almost convinced that if he didn’t suck Stiles’s face clean off, he wouldn’t see the boy in the morning.) With an obviously conked out Thomas on his back, Minho got away with only having to deliver a few curt nods as farewell before eagerly retreating to Stiles’s Jeep to wait for the kid to finish having his lungs removed through his esophagus by Derek’s tongue. (Gross. Never even think those words again. Please, god, have mercy on his scalded eyeballs.)

Minho cautiously delivered Thomas to the back seat of the Jeep, carefully shrugging the long, tangling limbs of the, apparently quite clingy, teen off as cautiously as he could despite their best attempts to retwist themselves about the wolf in anyway they possibly could. Finally, after that was done, the Asian shimmied his way into the seat beside his sleeping beauty - As he was now freely going to call him and totally mark it off as teasing because, come on! How could he not? Just look at the kid! Even in slumber he had the audacity to lay there and look fucking heart wrenchingly gorgeous, all messy hair and soft lips slightly parted… Fuck. Minho was gone. Minho was so gone for this boy, he was literally going to be ruined for anyone else and he loved it that way. Fuck him. 

After what felt like an eternity but, in all reality, couldn’t have been more than five minutes Stiles finally reappeared from his smoochfest, looking more dazed than anyone getting behind the wheel ever should and smelling like someone had just handed him a million dollars on a gold platter - Though, if anyone being handed cash carried the sharp spike of arousal Stiles’s scent currently did, there was a problem, or at least a weird money fetish. Gag. 

As the car revved to life under Stiles’s fingers, however, and they slowly began pulling out of the parking lot and into the streets beyond, Thomas managed to squirm his head into Minho’s lap in his slumber, snuggling his face into the inside of the Asian’s thigh in such a way that left the wolf with no room to talk about Stiles’s aroused scent as his own dick took interest in the sudden proximity, wholeheartedly ignoring Minho’s unspoken protest of  _ He is asleep you fucking creep  _ and vain attempts to picture some nasty images to ward away the sudden onslaught of horny that came up to smack him in the face. (Which is exactly what his boner would be doing to his poor friend if he didn’t get this shit under control in the next two minutes.)

Whether it was a mercy or a curse, Minho was left completely unsure as Thomas chose then to stir into wakefulness for a moment, hazel orbs blinking lazily open to gaze into Minho’s dark ones, where the wolf could only vainly hope the perceptive teen wouldn’t find the lust he felt throbbing through his veins in their depths. “I mean it you know.” The exhausted teen yawned sleepily and ignored any and all bulges he may or may not have noticed in Minho’s jeans as the torment of a boy nuzzled his way further up the broad expanse of the Asian’s inner thigh, absolutely ending any vain attempt Minho had going to drown out his own arousal. 

“What’s that, shank?” The werewolf inquired breathlessly, needing a distraction from the downright sinful sensation of the object of all his sexual fantasies mere breaths away from where all the blood in his body had suddenly decided to take up residency without so much as consulting the landlord, the tight denim of his jeans suddenly feeling extremely constricting.

“ ‘My home. ‘S you.” The tired teen mused thoughtfully and even though he brought a hand up to lazily trace designs on the rough material of the hellish jeans with a single, long finger, drawing lines and swirls in a way that would make even the most stoic of men shudder to even think about, Minho took more interest in his words than in the enticing sensation. “Always there. Even before, that gypsy chick said so.” Thomas elaborated after a moment, as if sensing his companion's confusion and even if the last part of the boy’s words didn’t make much sense, the sentiment still struck the werewolf like a bullet straight to the chest. “Always there for me, Min. My home.” Thomas reiterated through a drawn out yawn before promptly falling back asleep before his Keeper could even begin to analyze what he’d just heard. 


	18. Chapter 18

Thomas was fast asleep before they'd even pulled entirely out of the fair parking lot, giving little indication that he simply hadn’t died on the spot and it was only thanks to Minho’s ability to focus on the familiar cadence of the younger teen’s heartbeat that the wolf didn’t give into his anxious desire to wake his companion, just to be sure he was actually sleeping and not no longer among the living as his absolute stillness and practically inaudibly soft breathing implied. However, the steady thrum of blood coursing through his mate’s body filled the Asian’s head and soothed him into actually letting his exhausted mate rest rather than immediately shaking him awake like an overly concerned parent absolutely sure their child had keeled over in their sleep.

Given this quiet moment, the wolf quickly found himself lost in his own thoughts, given that it truly was a rarity for him to have a minute of down time when his entire life had become one huge gay panic thanks to the absolutely enrapturing boy now curled up on his lap, looking so serene and peaceful, it was hard to imagine the pretty brunette was responsible for sending Minho into cardiac arrest every two seconds. (Actually, who was he kidding? It was not hard to imagine at all. Thomas was sending him into cardiac arrest that very moment just by laying there looking so adorable - Like, seriously, who knew snoring could ever be considered so attractive? Not Minho.)

With this time to think, Minho found his thoughts drifting back to the gypsy’s tent, running over the ominous premonition she’d spoke of in his head and trying to analyze it for any actual clues, needing to guard his cherished mate against the imposing danger yet completely clueless as to what the actual problem was. The befuddling woman had spoke of mistrusting their companions but Minho couldn't sense any threat among the pack whatsoever. 

Scott and Isaac both looked like they might cry if they accidentally swatted a fly. Lydia and the Sheriff both failed to show the slightest inkling of mal intent. Derek was an asshole, yes, but not an enemy. That only left Stiles and he seemed the least threatening of them all, not to mention the closest to Thomas and the one who had been kindest to the Gladers ever since they’d arrived. It couldn’t be Stiles. 

Befuddled and no less well informed than he had been a moment ago, Minho reverted his attention back to the human snuggled up against him, one long arm wrapped about the Asian’s leg and his face buried into the poor excuse for a pillow case that was the uncomfortable looking denim of the werewolf’s jeans. However, Thomas must’ve not found them very uncomfortable at all as he rubbed the side of his cheek affectionately into the pants and released a soft hum of contentment, honestly reminding the wolf of a giant house cat at the moment, all snuggly and sleepy in the Asian’s lap. It truthfully made Minho want to do nothing more than pet his cherished thing. 

However, before Minho could give in to that temptation, the younger teen squirmed slightly, his eyebrows knitting together and his pink lips turning downwards in the beginnings of a frown as his pretty face contorted into a look of distress and a soft moan of displeasure escaped him, his grip on the coarse fabric of the other male’s pants tightening as he attempted to bury his face farther into Minho’s muscled thigh to little avail. 

Minho made a soft shushing sound, a noise which he hoped would be comforting as he brought a large hand up to comb his fingers soothingly through the apple of his eye’s scruffy brown locks, carding his digits through the soft strands in long, rhythmic strokes until his mate settled - I mean, if petting was for Thomas’s own good, Minho couldn’t really be blamed then, could he? Besides, he would do anything to soothe his mate. 

The wolf continued this action a few times, only satisfied when Thomas eased at the touch, his face softening to the look of contented peace it held moments ago as he visibly relaxed once more and the supernatural being let his hand fall still against the side of his love’s head, feelings of contentment budding inside the werewolf once he could pride himself on calming his boy and erasing any distress that ailed Thomas in his dreams. 

Thomas tilted his head slightly and leaned into where Minho’s hand still rested, nuzzling into the touch and releasing an audible sigh of comfort at the contact before finally returning to his earlier death-like demeanor of such deep sleep it was a wonder he even stirred in the first place. 

Now that his mate was cared for, Minho’s thoughts could freely drift to the earlier portion of the gypsy's sermon, the things the odd woman had said before she started acting as if they’d brought the black plague into her little tent or, better yet, sprouted horns and began whispering of all the wonders sin could offer while performing a ritualistic lap dance in her office. (So, Thomas perched on Minho’s lap whilst fishing around in the wolf’s pockets probably looked a little bit like a lap dance - But that wasn’t the point!)

The woman had spoke of their relationship before their memories were stolen away, confirming what Minho himself had remembered in snippets about Thomas and himself being something before all this and the brunette had looked genuinely intrigued but not necessarily surprised. Perhaps, Thomas remembered something more now too, or had some other indication? Maybe, despite being human, the younger boy could sense some of the same draw that the wolf constantly felt due to the bond they’d sealed in a time they couldn’t remember. 

Minho groaned softly and shook his head to clear the dangerous thoughts. There was no solid indication that Thomas recalled anything they had before and even less proof the boy returned the feelings… Or, if there was, well, Minho wasn’t going to risk reading too far into it and getting himself believing in false hope. Thomas trusted him and relied on him; so for now, that was good enough and the wolf wouldn’t risk fucking that up on some whimsical, fleeting thought.

Another part of that weird woman’s reading flitted its way into Minho’s wandering mind as some of the roads and houses outside began looking more familiar, indicating they were approaching the Stilinski household. The crazy girl had informed them that Thomas had actually seen Minho shift in their past life, yet had continued to love him anyway, unfearful. The idea that Thomas could look past the abomination that Minho truly was then, indicated that he could do it again, that the boy he wanted wouldn’t turn away in horror and disgust if the lycanthrope revealed himself to be what he truly was - Maybe Thomas could believe he wasn’t a monster when Minho himself could not. 

Minho’s musings were cut short as Stiles whipped the Jeep dangerously sharply into the driveway of their destination, turning so quickly the werewolf was pretty sure he legitimately felt two of the wheels leave the ground with the sudden action and instantly braced his arms over his slumbering companion in an attempt to keep him from tumbling off the seat, half-crouching over Thomas as he tried to shield the smaller boy from the jostling movement as much as possible. 

“We’re here.” Stiles informed matter of factly - as if they could’ve possibly missed his wonderful entrance - before popping open his door and pushing his lithe body flesh up against it to force motion into its resilient hinges, an absolutely horrendous screeching sound coming from the rusty contraption as he did so. “Don’t you worry, Roscoe, baby. Daddy will get you oil.” The teen cooed to the vehicle as he hopped out from the front seat and planted his feet on the gravel driveway with an unbecoming flail. 

“Jeep’s name ‘s Roscoe?” Thomas mumbled from Minho’s lap, apparently woken by the harsh turn despite his Keeper’s greatest attempts to let him rest, whiskey orbs blinking blearily up at his companion and throwing the wolf’s heart directly into a blender and turning the thing on puree with the sheer adorable sleepiness swimming in those eyes. Though the blender decided to become a cement mixer when his cherished human blinked once at him before seeming to understand he was safe and letting his honey eyes fall closed once more, snuggling contentedly back into his favorite pillow, A.K.A. Minho’s thigh. 

“Tommy, we can’t sleep here.” Minho encouraged softly, nudging the brunette in his lap lightly to no avail. “We gotta go inside, baby.” The wolf whispered once more, poking a finger into his companion’s soft cheek in an attempt to rouse him before his mind briefly stopped singing the endless praise of “Thomas is so cute,” for all of two seconds to let him evaluate what had actually just passed his own lips. Minho gaped, opening and shutting his mouth a few times with nothing more than a horrified croak of a noise presenting itself in explanation, so unless Thomas spoke frog, he was pretty much fucked. 

“Nooo. You’re comfortable enough, we can just stay here.” Thomas mumbled back through a yawn he muffled into the side of Minho’s leg so, yeah, the wolf was just gonna assume his companion was actually deaf and had done an amazing job of hiding it all this time. Obviously, that was the only possible explanation. 

“Tom, no, we need like, you know, an actual bed. With sheets, and blankets, and real, actual pillows.” Minho argued persistently, trying not to think about what Stiles probably assumed they were doing hanging back in his car all this time but also reminding himself to thank the boy sometime later as he didn’t disturb them either - That may be a needed pattern of behavior sometime in their future. No! Bad brain! Get your shit together!

“You’re a great pillow, Min.” Thomas assured comfortingly, gently patting Minho’s thigh as if to prove his point. “So soft, yet so firm.” The brunette elaborated in explanation, apparently assuming patting wasn’t quite good enough to display the truth of this new claim and deciding stroking the wolf’s leg muscle would be a much better indicator of said soft/firmness. 

Many other things were going to be firm soon if Thomas kept that up so it was really the only logical course of action when Minho shifted them about so he could get his arms under his companion and kicked their door open in one smooth motion, some small voice in the back of his head squealing that it hoped his mate saw what a coordinated piece of competence he was. 

The werewolf didn’t even bother giving any sort of warning or indication before hoisting the smaller teen off the back seat and bundling him up against his chest, keeping one arm behind his companion’s back while the other scooped under Thomas’s long legs at the knee, pulling his treasure into his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Which it kinda was if Minho was being completely honest here, Thomas’s lithe body slotted perfectly against his own when he lifted the smaller boy and the feel of the thin teen in his arms was a reassuring weight that soothed both his wolf and human as there was no mistaking Thomas was there and safe when he felt the boy resting in his arms. Everything about holding his mate felt  _ right. _

“You’re gonna carry me?” Thomas inquired a little squeakily, sounding almost embarrassed if Minho wasn’t mistaken but the boy didn’t hesitate before twining his arms around the wolf’s neck and nuzzling his way into the crook where the older teen’s shoulder met his collarbone, breathing in there softly before snuggling a little closer, presumably to fall asleep again. 

“Didn’t see you making any moves to get up and I don’t care how lazy you are, my ass ain’t sleeping in the back of a Jeep when there is a perfectly good bed a few feet away.” Minho scoffed snarkily, trying his best to ignore what a wolf-like action Thomas’s nuzzling happened to be and the accompanying thoughts that maybe their bond affected his human to the point where he desired some of the same base instinct assurances Minho’s wolf constantly craved.

“You're the best, Min.” Thomas conceded through another wide yawn, resting his head complacently against his companion’s shoulder and going lax in the wolf’s arms, apparently deciding here would be as good a place to sleep as any. 

Minho merely hummed in acknowledgement, grateful his companion’s eyes had fallen closed once more as there was no way the werewolf wasn’t blushing like a madman as he kicked the Jeep door shut behind them and began making his way towards the house. The Asian kept the steady sound of Thomas’s heartbeat in the back of his head, soothed by its rhythmic presence and pleased by the way it slowed into the contented pattern of sleep as they approached the front doorstep. 

The front door was a bit of a difficulty but Minho managed to grasp Thomas tightly with one arm as he struggled the doorknob open with the other, though even with his best attempt the brunette still released a disgruntled groan and snuggled his nose determinedly deeper into Minho’s neck, as if he half expected to hide himself away from anything trying to wake him - Or, more likely, part of him realised Minho would keep away anything daring to disturb his cherished mate and unconsciously intended to snuggle himself as close to the wolf as possible to receive this protection. 

Finally, after more struggle than a supernatural wonder should probably admit to, Minho had the door open and both arms securely under his boy once more, pressing his body back against the wooden door to close it behind them without having to take hand off his sweet sleepy thing once more, unwilling to disturb his slumbering baby any more than absolutely necessary. This obstacle overcome, the wolf was onto the stairs a moment later, taking each one as gently as he could and succeeding in reaching the top without jostling Thomas once in a matter of minutes - Because carrying pretty boys was obviously the true reason he’d been gifted with incredible werewolf agility. 

Luckily, they must’ve left their bedroom door open when they’d left that morning, for Minho was able to make his way down the hallway and slip into their room without another problem, easily pushing the wooden door closed behind him with his foot without so much as jarring Thomas. The wolf then moved across the room to deliver his mate to the bed, his steps carefully light and practically silent as he listened intently to the sound of his Runner’s heartbeat, searching for any signs of him waking and gratefully finding none. 

It looked like something out of a cheap romance novel as Minho gently lay the object of his desires into their bed, where their shared scent mingled in a way that made Minho simply want to bury his face in the soft, flowing sheets and tangle himself about them for the rest of his life - But apparently Wolfy was totally into it.  _ Carry home. Claim. _ The animal insisted determinedly, as if this were a totally logical progression of events that Minho was absolutely in the wrong to not go along with.

Minho bit his lip, breathing in slow as he tried to reign in his wolf before it did something stupid, though this only did more harm than good seeing the as entire room smelled like  _ Thomas  _ and  _ them,  _ so inhaling it really did naught but drive the hungry creature to desire his treasure more. The wolf wanted his scent covering his mate and wanted vicariously to have Thomas’s smell on himself, needing everyone who got near them to know they belonged to one another, that they were claimed by each other, that they were bound -  _ Mated _ Wolfy corrected helpfully, particularly pushy this evening for some unknown reason.

“Minho.”Thomas whispered softly, his mate’s voice breaking through his inner monologue probably the only thing that stopped Minho from scrambling into the bed and grinding against his sexy brunette, marking every piece of pale flesh he could reach and claiming his boy for his own. “‘S cold. Get your hot ass in bed.” The younger teen demanded groggily, blinking his hazel eyes open just slightly to gaze at his companion through half-lidded orbs all while Minho desperately tried to convince himself his friend was speaking about his actual body temperature and not his amazing looks.    
  


“Whiny shank.” Minho scoffed teasingly, reaching down a hand to gently ruffle his companion’s wild hair, scratching his fingers roughly through the soft locks so that they stuck up every which way as Thomas reached up and caught his hand, tugging gently at the limb until Minho finally complied and climbed into bed with an endeared sigh he hoped his companion would be too tired to catch - Just like his earlier slip up.

However, as the sleepy brunette snuggled into his personal pillow and heater, his delicious sweet lemon scent curling about Minho’s senses as the wolf indulged himself and curled about the smaller boy, letting his arms twist about his mate and pulling him close as he always wanted to, Thomas mumbled something that even the wolf’s keen senses couldn't discern as the words were muffled by his own chest where his sleepy boy had snuggled up.

“What's that?” Minho prompted softly, trying to use conversation as a distraction from his strong desire to nuzzle into his mate’s neck and inhale that amazing scent all night long, the urge only becoming more unignorable when Thomas’s smell took on that sweet edge the werewolf had been catching on it more often. 

“Called me baby.” Thomas repeated in a hushed whisper, snuggling himself a little further into Minho’s chest as if he wasn't quite sure he should inform the wolf he’d actually heard him but the boy did sound somewhat pleased and the werewolf swore he could almost feel his companion smile against his collarbone as the brunette nuzzled into him softly before falling still, his breath evening out and his heart rate slowing to the mellow cadence of sleep.


	19. Thomas Worships The Porcelain God

Well, the peace was nice while it lasted but was Minho even the least bit surprised when he woke up what couldn’t have been more than an hour or two later to crushing panic and an empty bed? No. Not really.

“Thomas!” Minho hissed into the quiet, trying to push back the smothering fear bubbling up inside his chest as he cast his gaze around the darkened room, scrambling upright in a matter of seconds as he threw the covers off his body and slammed his feet to the cold wooden floor below. When no audible response came, a dangerous snarl rumbled through the wolf’s chest despite Minho’s greatest attempt to reign in his agitated monster as he sniffed the air, throwing normalcy and subtlety right out the window in his panic as the wolf was too concerned with locating his cherished human to worry about anything so unimportant - Everything was unimportant in comparison to protecting Thomas.

There was no unfamiliar scent tainting the blissful aroma of Thomas and his combined smell, assuring Minho that nothing had come to steal his mate from him in his sleep and, with this knowledge slightly soothing his vengeful beast, the lycan forced his brain to start constructing logical solutions and actual plans rather than just the endless cycle of  _ Missing. Protect. Fucking Kill. Missing. Protect…  _  that ran endlessly through his mind and left little room for much else.

A low groan, small and miserable, sounded in the darkened room as Minho strained his ears to catch some sort of audial indication of Thomas’s presence, searching for a heartbeat or a soft breath and finally finding it all as he focused his senses on that one sound and fixated on it until he could finally make out the familiar noises that indicated his love was nearby. Relief crashed over the wolf in a wave as he stumbled blindly towards the noise, the sound having come from the private bathroom attached to their own room, the door to which was left slightly ajar to let a thin sliver of light into the blackness of the bedroom, the glowing light casting an eerie pale sheen on the floor outside the bathroom. 

“Thomas!” Minho hissed into the darkness once more, just hoping his eyes weren't lighting up like a fucking neon sign as he pushed the door open the rest of the way and shouldered his way through the gap as soon as it was large enough, his pushy wolf desperate to see his mate, needing to touch him and assure himself the boy was safe. 

“Minho.” Came a quiet response as the wolf finally shoved his way into the bathroom, but the o on the end of the word drug out into a low groan, a pained noise that went straight to the concerned werewolf's heart and instantly ignited the desire to coddle and comfort inside the beast. 

The explanation as to why this unhappy noise dared force its way from his mate’s lips soon became apparent as, the moment Minho stepped inside the small, brightly lit room, Thomas ducked his head low over the shimmering porcelain toilet positioned near the door and promptly began hurling into it. Ah. That would explain things. 

“Oh, Thomas.” Minho whispered sympathetically, having absolutely nothing else to say to offer any solace to his suffering sweetheart as he tentatively padded across the room to his where his friend slumped over toilet. The werewolf hesitated just to the side of his companion, unsure of how to offer comfort at a time like this or if the boy even actually wanted to be touched as Thomas let out a low groan and lifted his head from the toilet bowl once more.

“Oh god, Min, please just kill me.” Thomas groaned miserably, reaching up a shaky hand to flush away the disgusting mess before sagging defeatedly into the floor, looking like he might very well be classified as “sad liquid” before human being with real, actual bones.

“Such a drama queen.” Minho joked chidingly, though he kept his voice soft and gentle as he crouched down beside his companion on the tile floor.

“I am no such thing! If your organs were on fire, you’d be complaining too!” Thomas scoffed defensively but there was a light laugh underlying his words as the human leaned heavily into his Keeper’s side and rested his head against the wolf’s shoulder, his hazel orbs drifting closed.

Minho let his eyes trail over the kid as they sat like that for a moment, taking in the paler than usual tones of his companion’s exquisite skin and the absolutely exhausted look about his friend, all half-lidded eyes and pink lips parted in strained pants. The teen’s paper white cheeks were streaked with a harsh splatter of vibrant red and a film of sweat decorated the top of the brunette’s forehead.

The Asian’s wolf whined unhappily, displeased by its mate’s discomfort and inherit inability to do anything to ease his fragile human’s suffering, his cool werewolfy pain pulling trick apparently not designed for sickness as the wolf’s attempt at it did naught but leave him awkwardly holding Thomas’s hand with no real explanation. 

This being said, Minho was more than a little hurt when his mate pulled his hand back, silently scolding himself for being upset over something so foolish, it wasn’t like Thomas had any real reason to want to hold hands with him so he really shouldn’t be surprised. However, there was no denying the tumbling wave of relief that swept over the lycan when he found the only reason his mate had tugged his hand away was to grip the toilet as he went in for round two of “Will Thomas manage to keep anything in his stomach?” 

Minho grimaced distastefully at the display as his favorite human heaved into the porcelain bowl, the brunette's small frame wracked with the heavy convulsions as a horrible gagging sound forced its way through the kid’s throat, the very sight quite near making Minho loose his own lunch. The werewolf reached up tentatively and only hesitated a moment before resting a large hand in the center of his companion’s back, beginning to rub slow circles between the boy’s wide shoulders in hopes of easing his love some as the brunette's body shuddered violently under his fingertips.

“Minho!” Thomas practically whimpered when he finally stopped gagging and pulled back from the toilet, his voice nothing more than a needy whine as if he half expected the wolf to somehow grow magic fingers and alleviate him of this pain with a simple touch. (Would that really be super unlikely though, really? I mean, really, Minho could smell emotions for fucks sake, magic fingers should be a piece of cake.)

“Shh, baby.” Minho shushed softly, tugging the miserable brunette into his side as the Asian reached up to flush the toilet, not wanting his sick boy to have to move any more than absolutely necessary nor really bothering to watch his tongue any longer - Thomas had already heard the wolf slip up and call him baby before, what was one, or two, or sixty-seven more times?

“I told Stiles wrong, Minho!” Thomas practically wailed, clutching his arms tightly around his stomach and slamming his head into the werewolf’s shoulder. “I, most definitely, do NOT love froyo!” The brunette informed certainly, groaning pathetically afterwards as if his organs were intent on proving his point. 

“When did you even get your hands on froyo?” Minho huffed exasperatedly, totally not wanting to know so he could go dismember whatever unfortunate fair vendor had served his mate a bad batch of cold dessert.

“Stiles remembered that I had never had any, so when you and Derek were having your big dick battle with the fair games we went and got some.” Thomas explained, leaning back so he was talking to all of Minho instead of just the wolf’s shoulder blade. “He disappeared for, like, two minutes and when he came back, he had froyo. It was insane, I never even knew people could make food that fast.” The brunette mused thoughtfully, looking wistful and regretful all at once, like frozen yogurt was about to be his new Apple of Eden, a forbidden delicacy he would always crave but could never have. (Oh yeah, Minho could totally relate there.)

“We were not having a big dick battle!” Minho scoffed defensively with a roll of his dark eyes, though he couldn't find it in himself to be the least bit miffed about the comment when Thomas was looking at least a little better than he had two minutes ago, some actual color presenting itself in the brunette's pale cheeks and his wonderful smell losing some of its miserable bite. 

Though Thomas’s intoxicating scent did still maintain a harsh, acidic edge of sickness to it that made his wolf whine to smell and sorta sparked the desire to run his tongue all over his companion’s face as if this would somehow alleviate, or at least soothe, his mate. His wolf apparently had no idea that modern medicine was a thing - Magic tongues only in Wolfy’s world. 

“Testosterone tournament? Cock challenge? Manhood match?” Thomas listed off snydly, his pink lips curled up in a pleased smirk and his hazel eyes glimmering amusedly as Minho shoved him playfully, the brunette falling slightly to the side from their crouched position but catching himself with his arm before he could hit the floor - Not that Minho wouldn’t have reached out and caught him if there were any real risk of that happening. 

“You really are a stupid shank.” Minho scoffed dryly before hooking an arm under his friend's shoulder and beginning to guide the brunette upright, not really keen on spending the rest of the night on the cold bathroom floor when they could totally be cuddling (Fuck yes. Minho was gonna cuddle that boy so hard. Screw embarrassment. Tell normalcy to suck a dick. His mate was unwell and Minho would be damned if he wasn't about to cuddle the shit outta his sweet little human) in a warm bed, thank you very much. 

“Fine. Fine.” Thomas huffed dismissively with a wave of his hand, letting Minho drag him to his feet but leaning heavily into his companion once the teen was standing. “Ball battle.” The sweet yet snarky thing huffed under his breath but Minho chose to ignore that, merely opting to let out a short snort of a laugh and all but ignore the inner celebration his mind was throwing in honor of Thomas’s happier mood, his heart informing him that someone had literally exploded a confetti cannon in his chest and now the specks of neon paper stuck to every available surface, never to truly be clean again.

The werewolf carefully urged his boy over to the counter with the sink in the middle of it, moving slowly so as not to unsettle Thomas’s momentarily pacified stomach as the brunette shuffled obediently after him, letting himself be guided without much protest or even so much as a question. Even when the Asian wrapped his arms around the smaller boy and lifted him up onto the ceramic surface, the younger teen failed to comment, letting himself be maneuvered wherever his companion pleased and apparently trusting Minho to take care of him - The notion of course absolutely decimating the lycan’s ability to maintain a normal heart rate and signing him up for death by heart attack at the age of seventeen.    

Minho grabbed the hand towel hanging on the wall near the sink, a dark blue rag made of some particularly soft material that passed Minho’s quick inspection of Mate-worthiness before the wolf turned the handle of the faucet to the warm side and a light stream of water burst forth from the spicket. The Asian waited a moment then stuck a finger under the softly falling liquid, assessing the temperature and opting to turn the knob a little bit more towards the cold side before sticking the corner of his towel underneath it, not wanting to scald his mate. 

Once satisfied that the cloth was significantly damp and met Wolfy's high standard of proper temperature, (the creature apparently thought if the water was even a bit too hot, Thomas would experience third degree burns) Minho flicked the faucet off and pulled back to stand in front of his companion. The Asian then dabbed the wet cloth gently against the side of his mate’s mouth, wiping away any remnants of barf that still lingered with careful slowness, his movements light and cautious as if the slightest upset would send Thomas into another hurling episode.  

Thomas sat complacently through the whole ordeal, his hazel eyes drifting halfway closed as if the whole experience had left him drained and Minho legitimately worried there was a pretty decent chance of the younger teen passing out right there on the sink. However, the brunette's hand did manage to find the arm the wolf wasn’t using to wash his face but rather had braced on the other side of Thomas lest the boy actually doze off to prevent any falling from sinks that may occur. The smaller boy wrapped his fingers about the limb in a loose grip, gently rubbing his thumb against the Asian’s beige skin as if attempting to reassure the lycan despite the fact that Thomas had been the one crouched over a toilet bowl heaving like his body was attempting to actually expel his entire stomach through his mouth. 

Though, the action did actually sooth the anxious werewolf some, the repetitive action and constant contact relaxing his disgruntled beast to the point where Minho was at least able to accept the fact that Thomas most likely wasn’t dying as his paranoid brain decided the slightest ailment indicated. Enough so that by the time the Asian had grabbed a cup from the counter and filled it with cool water, all he really wanted to do was scoop his boy into his arms and bundle him back off to bed where they both belonged, tangled about each other in the indulgent night time cuddles Minho decided he was allowed - Obviously wrapping himself about his mate would allow him to know the moment anything disturbed his precious charge and tonight was a perfect example of why that was absolutely necessary. 

“Swish and spit.” Minho directed quietly, holding the cup out to Thomas who merely gave a small grunt of agreement before doing as he was told, making a low sound of disgust and sticking his tongue out in an over exaggerated gag as soon as he pulled his head back up from the action. 

The werewolf dabbed one of the dry parts of the towel against his friend’s lips before finally giving in to his selfish desires and collecting his companion up in his arms, though he couldn’t be bothered to feel guilty about his indulgence when Thomas so readily tangled his long arms about the Asian’s shoulders and snuggled his face into the lycan’s neck with a contented sigh that tickled the sensitive skin there. Minho moved them back to the bed with relative ease, werewolf agility and all that being pretty damn useful when it came to carrying pretty boys to your bed to mate them- Wait. No, Wolfy, pump the breaks on that thought. 

Fighting back any lewd ideas that may come from the picture, Minho lay Thomas back into his usual spot in the bed and gently untangled himself from the boy long enough to climb in himself, trying not to actually coo at the sleep slurred protest Thomas gave at having his arms placed on the bed rather than on Minho. The wolf shimmied under the blankets a moment later only to instantly have a clingy Thomas all but encircling him the moment he was in arms reach once more, long arms worming their way around the werewolf's torso and gangly gazelle legs thrown haphazardly over the Keeper's own limbs. 

Some sort of pleased rumble that was definitely more wolf than human verberated through the Asian’s chest as he wrapped his own arms around his mate and selfishly pulled the smaller boy against his chest, before burying his nose deep into the crook of his companion’s neck and breathing in that wonderful, sweet tinged scent of home, fully indulging in the bliss that was sleepy, cuddly Thomas.

Maybe, the wolf even let himself be a little bit hopeful when Thomas mumbled out “You take such good care of me, Min,” into the darkness of their room.


	20. The Full Moon Does Terrible Things to a Werewolf's Morning Wood

When Minho woke up, it was as if his senses had shot up with some incredible steroid that even the greatest sportstar would beg for. Everything was enhanced tenfold, the sound of Thomas softly snoring beside him ringing like a schoolbell through the wolf’s head and the feel of the warm sheets clinging to his skin coming off as rough and restraining. The most prominent thing however, was undeniably the mindblowing smell of his mate, that single scent conquering all other sensation in the early dawn as if flooded the Asian’s nostrils and clouded his mind like an extra dose of sleeping gas.  

Thomas smelled of honey, and sunshine, and everything good in this world, the aroma of sugar and caramel quite near bringing Minho to his knees as he reveled in it all, selfishly ducking his head to the slumbering boys neck and breathing in deep. It was, in fact, a horrible idea. Thomas smelled better than Minho could ever recall him doing so before and the absolute lack of space between them was offering absolutely no opportunity to ignore or withstand the intoxicating call of his love’s smell.

The scent of  _ Mate  _ drove Wolfy up the wall this morning for some inexplicable reason, sparking unfeasible want deep inside the desperate werewolf’s core and spreading the burning feel of it through the Asian’s body until the very tips of his fingers tingled with untold desire. The Keeper’s hands shook with it as he fought back his inner beast to the best of his abilities, his wolf having none of it this morning as it demanded reprieve from this unbearable purgatory of being by his mate’s side yet never being allowed to hold, or kiss, or  _ bite  _ as he so needed. 

It was unfightable today for some unknown cause, the infatuation with the pale, mole speckled skin of Thomas’s neck becoming a downright obsession as Minho strained to keep his fangs in, ultimately failing as they told him to kindly fuck off and made a grand appearance anyway, his claws sprouting out to join the party as the lycan fought a losing battle against this untamed wolf. Sharp claws tore into the the soft blankets as Minho grasped at something in hopes of finding stability and a low, possessive growl the werewolf didn’t consent to rumbled its way from the guy’s throat. 

The sound must have alerted the struggling werewolf’s slumbering mate, for Thomas twitched slightly and made a soft noise of protest at being roused, a sloppy groan that ended in a half-snort that Minho probably would’ve found totally endearing and heart wrenching had he not been waging war on himself .

Wolfy for some reason, read it as arousing. Because snoring was just so sexy right? Boy howdy, nothing made Minho wanna whip out his dick more than snoring. Though this made a good bit of sense considering Wolfy was finding absolutely everything arousing at the moment, Thomas’s addictive smell in this amplified state casting everything in a lusty hue that made the boy’s slightest twitch a total turn on at the moment. 

Minho had to get out of here, Thomas was on the verge of waking and here the Asian was half-wolfed out, not to mention half-hard, hovering over him like a fucking predator about to bore down on a conquered piece of prey - Wow. Was Minho really that fucking stupid? Why would he even begin to allow himself to think something like that when Wolfy was already in a sex-crazed state of absolute insanity. Now he really wanted to sink his teeth into his precious, captured, hapless little thing’s neck. Yeah. Mhm. There was that sex-crazed insanity he was talking about. 

Minho snarled again, this time purposefully and at himself as he forcefully pulled his body away from his mate, practically shaking with the effort of it all as he drug his limbs off the mattress and forced himself to his feet, stumbling a few preliminary paces back while he still had the upper hand over his animal. 

Wolfy came back with a counter attack of his own, the sight of his mate lying in  _ their _ bed giving him a stamina boost like the image was a fucking magic mushroom in a game of Mario and the beast demanded its right to pounce what belonged to him - Apparently having decided Thomas was his and wanting to show that in every way, particularly with teeth marks in the pale expanse of the younger teen’s throat where everyone could see them. 

Minho turned and bolted from the room before his wolf could win out and fuck him (And, more likely than not and in a much more literal sense, Thomas) over, slamming the door behind him before he could think about it and immediately wincing at the thought of his sleeping boy inside. There wasn’t much time to dwell on this matter though as the werewolf had much bigger problems to worry about, such as the fact that his claws were currently embedded in the drywall of the hall where he’d sunk them in an attempt to brace himself and prevent any rushing into the bedroom Wolfy may attempt. (Aka, was very likely to attempt.)

“Whoa, dude, easy on the paint job!” A familiar voice interrupted Minho’s internal monolog that currently mostly just consisted of a lot of snarling and growling with the occasional, intelligible word that always centered around  _ Mate, mine _ ,  _ claim  _ which was apparently Wolfy’s go to mantra and the Asian managed to lift his head with some struggle to let his gaze fall on the object of his desire’s twin. Luckily, Wolfy was apparently very aware of the difference between the two, nearly identical boys, and the presence of his mate’s sibling seemingly had no effect on Minho’s wolf’s desire to bolt back into the bedroom and make sweet love (Wow. Really wolf? Make sweet love? Are you from the goddamn nineteen hundreds?) to his favorite Stilinski.

Well, that was actually a lie. Stiles’s presence did have an effect but it was in fact only to elicit a protective growl from the creature who suddenly stood erect and pulled his claws from the unfortunate wall to spread them defensively over the door he stood in front of.  Apparently, besides the desire to mate Thomas, whatever was going on with his wolf also encouraged it to act on the rest of the animalistic impulses Minho was usually able to hold back and while the human side of the Asian accepted Stiles as an ally, his wolf was not quite on the same page and bared his teeth angrily even when Stiles took a tentative step back.

“What the hell?” Stiles questioned nervously holding his hands up in a pacifying gesture and taking another slow step back but, for some reason, not even this appeased Wolfy and a low, continuous growl rumbled from the werewolf without cease. “Oh!” The brunette then suddenly exclaimed, snapping his long fingers and grinning wide, as if completely oblivious to the fact that he had a feral animal intent on protecting its mate snarling at him. “Don’t worry, man! I know what’s going on!” The teen assured with a causal wave of his hands, momentary fear apparently dissipated now that he had his solution, whatever that may be. 

“Full moon is tonight!” Stiles informed knowledgeably, placing his hands on his hips and looking quite pleased with himself. “I almost forgot since Derek usually has all…” The boy began but then trailed off to gesture vaguely at the half-shifted werewolf still snarling in his hallway like it was all of about two seconds away from dismembering him. “This under control.” The teen finally finished up with an amused sort of look about him.

Minho would have liked to reply something besides a growl but Wolfy was not having it, still snarling and glowering like Thomas’s life depended on his ability to make a threatening rumbling noise. 

“Yeah, no worries, man. I’ll call Derek and set him on babysitting duty. Maybe he can Alpha Eyes you or something.” Stiles reassured cheerily, his tone light and casual as if having a half-wolfed out lycanthrope in his hallway was an everyday occurrence. “Dad’s off today so me and him can take Thomas out somewhere.” The brunette continued before moving back towards his own room, supposedly to call Derek. 

Minho’s growl lowered to a more dangerous tone at the last part of the sentence even whilst his human side thanked whatever gods there may be for someone trustable offering to keep his mate safe when he himself was a danger to the one he wanted nothing more than to protect. 

“But I’ll have to be back before too late ‘cause ya know…” Stiles trailed off just before ducking into his own room. “Full moon!” The boy whooped eagerly turning to waggle a suggestive eyebrow at the barely controlled werewolf before finally disappearing back into his bedroom whist humming some jingle pertaining to how he was gonna get that hot alpha dick that Minho truly wished he’d never heard. 

Stiles reemerged naught but a few moment later apparently having gotten Derek to agree to babysit a disoriented werewolf in a matter of about two seconds, clearly having some magic influence over the broody dude who Minho knew for a fact would rather spend his time anywhere else, that whole semi-rivalry thing they had going not yet laid to rest. The brunette must have been gifted not only the power to magically tame Derek Hale, but also the ability to have impeccable timing for almost the exact moment the teen returned, Minho’s sharp ears picked up the sound of his mate beginning to stir inside the room he still guarded like the demons of the underworld were about to come pouring down the hallway in a fit of rage.

“Quick! Into the bathroom!” Stiles directed, seeming to pick up on what was going on, probably due to the fact that Minho practically sprang away from the door, his human stubbornly beating back his wolf with a metal bat as he wasn't about to have Thomas walk out here and find him in all his fanged and furred glory.   

The werewolf complied hurriedly, rushing into the door Stiles indicated despite the fact that his livid wolf practically howled with displeasure at the sudden turn of events, apparently distrusting his mate’s twin and unwilling to leave Thomas alone with him. However, Minho was having none of his paranoid animal’s shit and locked the door to the bathroom the moment he was inside more to restrain himself than to keep anyone out. 

“Morning, Thomas!” Stiles’s eager voice met Minho’s ears through the thick wooden door of the bathroom, way too chipper even with the muffled overtones the door gave it. It was absolutely a wonder Thomas didn't pick up on the fact that his twin was hiding something right off the bat but his mate always had been adorably oblivious so, honestly, the werewolf wasn’t even a little bit surprised.

“Stiles?” Thomas mumbled laggingly in return, his sweet, familiar tones sleep slurred and low with the grumble of someone who wasn’t entirely awake yet.  Minho could just picture how incredibly sleepy and cute his boy must look just from hearing his groggy voice. The teen probably had hair sticking up every which way and his gorgeous hazel eyes were likely soft and half lidded in the early moments of wakefulness, an image Minho literally had to bite his lower lip stubbornly to keep from outright whining at the thought of missing, both his wolf and human sides equally displeased at being separated from Thomas even if it was for the boy’s own safety. 

“Where’s Minho?” Thomas abruptly demanded before Stiles even had a chance to reply, all notes of groggy unawareness suddenly absent from his voice, replaced with sharp notes of concern and displeasure. 

The thought that he was first thing his mate thought of when the boy awoke left Minho weak, his heart doing a totally unmanly flutter thing up in his throat and the sheer anxiousness his favorite human presented when confronted with his absence left the wolf’s stomach in knots. Not rushing forth from the bathroom to scoop his love into his arms and pepper him with kisses and assurances that he’s always be there was absolutely the hardest thing Minho had ever done. 

“He’s in the bathroom, literally saw him like, two seconds ago.” Stiles reassured easily, apparently a lot smoother at simply omitting the truth rather than straight up lying. “He didn’t look like he was feeling well so he’s probably gonna be in there awhile.” Stiles continued to half-lie with little to no giveaway in his words, only the skip-beat pattern of his heartbeat letting the werewolf himself recognize the words as a mistruth.

“I probably got him sick.” Thomas groaned unhappily in response, sounding not in the least comforted by Stiles explanation. “Why’s he not just in our bathroom?” The boy then questioned abruptly, reminding Minho again that, while Thomas was, in fact, oblivious, he wasn’t stupid either - His mate’s cunning making his wolf practically preen with pride and want.  

“Beats me. He’s your idiot, not mine.” Stiles played it off easily, eliciting a soft breath of a laugh from Minho’s mate and twisting the hiding werewolf’s guts stubbornly into an even tighter knot, just in case their previous impossibly ruined configuration wasn’t dismantled enough already from Thomas’s earlier statements. “Either way, let’s just go grab some breakfast. You, me, and Dad are going to the park today.” Stiles continued casually but, even through the bathroom door Minho didn’t miss the way Thomas’s scent soured with anxiousness at the words.  

“Not Minho?” Thomas questioned uncertainty, sounding like there was absolutely nothing in this world that would make him more unhappy.  

“I’m not sure he’s up for it.” Stiles insisted soothingly, his voice condoling but Thomas’s fearful smell not lessening in the slightest, the soured edge that indicated his mate’s uncomfortableness driving Minho’s wolf to actually dig its razor sharp claws into the bathroom door as Minho barely restrained it from bursting forth and chasing off that unwelcomed tang. 

“I’ll just stay here then.” Thomas informed surely, his voice determined and certain, leaving no room for argument. 

“C’mon, dude, I really want you to get to hang out with Dad some. He’s never able to get a day off so it would really suck if we spent it at home.” Stiles pressed urgently, leaving Minho eternally grateful for the pure effort the teen put into ensuring Thomas was going somewhere safe, away from the wolf. 

“I don’t really want to leave him here alone sick.” Thomas protested unhappily, sounding as if he were grasping for straws and getting nowhere. It was equal parts endearing and terrifying as Minho wanted nothing more than for his mate to want to be with him but the wolf need Thomas to go now, unwilling to put his fragile human at risk. 

“I’ve already called Derek to come hang out with him and play nurse.” Stiles reassured comfortingly, his voice unsettlingly calm as if he got more comfortable with the lie the longer he went along with it. 

“Oh. Okay then.” Thomas sighed reluctantly, sounding defeated and like this was not, in the least bit okay with him at all. “I guess.” The brunette added almost dejectedly as the sound of retreating footsteps met Minho’s straining ears, letting the hiding wolf know Stiles was guiding his brother safely away from the bathroom.

It was what he wanted. Minho needed to keep Thomas safe, no matter the cost. He wanted the boy to go away and be kept as far as possible from himself this night of the full moon… 

But that didn’t mean Minho didn’t release a tormented whine as his clawed nails drug desperately down the white painted door frame, leaving deep gashes in their wake and white paint curls on the floor as his mate walked away.  


	21. Pupsitting

Hiding in the bathroom was, most definitely, not the most glamorous thing Minho had ever done but, somehow, he smothered his pride and managed it, the constant reminder that this was for Thomas the only thing keeping the Asian from bursting forth from the tiny room that very moment and chasing down what he desired like a beast after a rabbit - A rabbit that smelled like  _ sex _ , and  _ mate _ , and  _ mine _ … Okay, nevermind, the rabbit was probably a poor analogy but, somehow, the prey aspect of it still rang true and Minho was in no state to think of any better simile when he was a little preoccupied with battling back his inner animal, thank you very much.

Minho wanted to chase, and pounce, and bite. He was the hunter and Thomas was the only prey that would satiate the ravenous hunger that clawed at his chest and urged him to devour what was his. It took more willpower than the Keeper actually owned to resist the urge to pursue his succulent mate, the need to hunt down the one he so desired undeniable in its feverish tug, the only comprehensible thought that ran through the wolf’s muddled mind was the want to capture, to dominate, to claim. 

Whoah. Whoah. Whoah. Slow your roll there, Wolfy. Full moon or not, Minho was sitting right here on this bathroom floor until Thomas was far out of reach. The Keeper was absolutely unwilling to do any such hunting or fucking unless Thomas had explicitly given him the A-Ok to do so, and Minho just didn’t see that happening anytime soon. (According to Wolfy, Thomas was  _ Mate _ and had thus already consented - Now let's get on with this shit - But Minho was diligently ignoring all that.)The Keeper’s intent was to protect and shield Thomas, not to be the threat, and he would die before he swayed on that. 

So the werewolf sat crouched against the door with his back leaned into the now ruined surface and his head tipped back to match, his dark eyes remained squeezed shut tight and his face contorted into one of intense discomfort as he battled with himself - Though to any onlooker it would probably appear as if the boy was dealing with the worst case of constipation known to mankind rather than an onslaught of horniness. Once Thomas finally retreated with his twin, things became, admittedly, a miniscule amount easier, considering Minho could at least no longer smell that wonderful concoction of lemon and sweetness that drove him wild (Quite literally in this instance given the fact that his claws were currently scratching long lines of damage into the slick, white tile of the bathroom floor.)

However, the wolf still maintained his acute sense of hearing fixed on the constant rhythm of Thomas’s heartbeat throughout the entirety of the separation, the well known drumbeat a familiar cadence that Minho’s animal locked onto like a lifeline and focused on with such intensity that all else became a dull buzz in the background. Thum-Thump. Thum-Thump. Thum-Thump - With the occasional skip beat that correlated with the teen’s unease, Thomas apparently still just as upset at being kept from Minho as the werewolf himself was. 

Minho’s wolf let out a distressed whine every time there was a skip-beat of nervousness from it’s mate, the tormented sound verbally escaping the Asian’s lips on each occasion as the creature was absolutely desperate to reach its mate and protect him despite Minho’s vain attempts to convince the beast that there was nothing to protect Thomas from at the moment save for his own self. Still, the wolf fought, unrelenting in the face of its mate’s apparent fear and unwilling to listen to reason with the anxious skip-beat fueling it into a defensive rage but Minho was steadfast in his resolve and nothing would convince him to put Thomas at risk, so here on the bathroom floor he stayed.

With all this in mind, one would undoubtedly be convinced that Thomas’s eventual departure would alleviate some of the strain put on the werewolf as, surely, no longer having to listen to the tormented rhythm of his lover’s heart rate would be a blessing. Well, those idiotic individuals would be so fucking wrong. The moment the sound of the front door opening met Minho’s ears followed by the corresponding absence of Thomas’s heartbeat, his wolf went batshit. 

Minho slammed himself through the bathroom door, his animal unwilling to think about normal human things like doorknobs at the moment  and opting to simply throw his body into the wooden barrier until it gave way, which proved to only take about two adrenaline fueled shoulder checks in fact. The Asian slammed his right shoulder gruffly into the bothersome door a final time and the cracking thunder of thick wood splitting apart filled the air, the tarnished door throwing open to send the caged werewolf tumbling from its bowels, the creature all but falling through the doorway and stumbling onto the carpeted floor of the hall beyond in his haste.

Minho scrambled upright in an instant, his legs propelling him forward in a mad dash of desperation before he’d even fully risen to an upright position once more, sending the werewolf bolting down the hallway before he could even think to stop himself. The wolf flung a clawed hand out to grasp the tall wooden pole that marked the beginning of the stair’s banister, swinging himself around on the, luckily quite stable, thing to turn his body toward the steps. Maybe the sheriff had werewolf proved his house? Minho wouldn’t be too surprised - Though he’d recommend stronger bathroom doors if that were the case and some very good insurance for the Asian doubted even a steel plated safe vault could keep him in if Thomas was on the other side of it.

Stairs? Who needs those? Minho’s wolf apparently declared as the Asian all but leapt down to the first floor, painfully jolting his knees as they took the brunt of the impact and the Keeper vaguely wished the Sheriff had invested in carpet on the downstairs level as well when he was doing all that werewolf-proofing. However, there was no time to worry about any of this as the teen scrambled to the front door and peered outside, clawed nails ticking noisily against  the glass window pane of the thing as the wolf craned to catch even the slightest glimpse of his cherished mate, needing at least that to soothe his livid animal who cared about naught but getting Thomas in his sights and under his guard once more at the moment. 

All the poor wolf caught sight of, unfortunately, was the softly glowing tail lights of Stiles’s robin egg Jeep rushing up the road and disappearing out of sight over a crested slope, effectively robbing his mate away from him and leaving the Keeper to whine pathetically at the undesired (No! Wolfy! This  _ is  _ what we wanted! We need to keep him safe!) turn of events. A beat of silence passed, then another, before suddenly a deep, remorseful sound began building in Minho’s chest, escaping his lips as naught but a low moan yet rapidly building into an outright wail of want. Howling. Howling was a thing now. Great, really fucking great.

The howl was a horrible sound, speaking of unadulterated need and agony, the wolf being left in physical pain at the separation from its mate and unable to hold in the unbearable hurt a moment longer. It was a tormented thing, mangled and unnatural in the boy’s throat as it forced its way through his lungs and demanded the world bear witness to its suffering and weep for all that it had done to it. 

Unsurprisingly, as the world rarely regrets its cruelty and feels no remorse for its degraded victims, no weeping came, but there was a rather unexpected gruff mutter of “Need a muzzle, pup?” from behind Minho so that was something. Though the Asian would definitely still have prefered the weeping, thanks, or actually, literally anything other than that. Nails through the eyeballs perhaps?  

Minho turned from where he’d kept his face plastered to the window, his nose smooshed up against the cool glass and his labored breath leaving steam against the chilly surface as if his wolf was half convinced hope alone would bring Thomas rushing back into his arms. The Asian’s expectant gaze fell upon Derek Hale, badass werewolf by day, babysitter by night. 

The guy was standing at the foot of the stairs Minho had all but abandoned in his quest to chase down Thomas and was watching the younger wolf with a calculating look, muscled arms crossed stoically over his broad chest and eyebrows skyhigh in silent judgment. Resting bitch face much? Or maybe it just had something to do with the fact that Derek was actually a stuck up bitch.    


How had the guy even gotten there? Minho was literally standing in front of the only door to the house! The dude must’ve stalkerishly gone through Stiles’s window or some other insane course of action. Creep. (Accuses the guy that rubs his crush's shirts on himself to get his smell on them.)

Minho huffed out a half-hearted snarl, not because he felt actually threatened or even all that defensive at the moment considering Thomas wasn’t here and his wolf thus had little reason to be bothered by Derek’s presence but just because he, apparently, did not exactly have the level of patience required to deal with the infamous King of Brooding at the moment. 

“Wow. You really have no control.” Derek snorted distastefully, giving the other wolf a once over before shaking his head disbelievingly. “It’s barely afternoon and you’re already shifted.” The alpha groaned exasperatedly, appearing as if there were a very likely chance he might strangle Stiles in vengeance for assigning him this heinous job the next time he laid eyes on the brunette teen. 

“You don’t say, asshat?” Minho snarled back, barely resisting the pressing urge to slam his head into the nearest wall until he knocked himself out just for the simple fact that, if he were unconscious, he wouldn’t have to deal with Derek’s utter assholery. “Nothing gets past those sharp alpha senses, huh?” The Asian huffed snarkily, stalking across the room to retreat upstairs once more, having no reason to be down here since there was an obvious lack of Thomas in the area. Maybe he could at least smother himself in their shared sheets and at the very least catch a bit of his mate’s scent before he asphyxiated himself to escape the older man’s bothersome presence.  

Minho stepped to the side to move around the utter brick wall that was Derek Hale, purposely knocking his shoulder roughly into the other wolf’s as he did so and immediately regretting it as, um, ouch. Was this fucker literally made out of rocks or some shit?

“I’m not any more excited to be pupsitting you than you are.” Derek reminded the Asian pointedly, his gruff voice bordering on an irritated growl.

“Pupsitting?” Minho parroted incredulously, that self-suffocation looking more appealing by the second as he stalked up the stairs and stormed back towards his own room. 

“Blame Stiles. His term, not mine.” Derek snorted distastefully, glowering haughtily at nothing in particular and looking as if he wanted to do a whole lot more to Stiles than blame him. Minho was gonna go out on a limb here and say it was pretty safe to assume there would be some seriously rough revenge sex in the poor teen’s near future. Good thing Stiles had seemed excited about getting that “hot alpha dick” tonight or the Asian might legitimately be concerned for the unfortunate kid.

As it was, all Minho felt was mild disgust and an incredibly strong desire to think about anything else, preferably about an entirely different pair of werewolves and scrawny brunette boys participating in extremely similar activities. Just as the Keeper was about to duck into his own room and take leave of his hired watchdog, however, Derek began speaking again because the world refused to simply let Minho just go jerk off to thoughts of his hot crush like any other normal teenage boy. Thanks universe, you fucking cockblock.

“Why haven’t you been this bad off before?” The brooding bitch asked pointedly, somehow managing to make the simple question sound like more of an accusation than anything else, as if Minho had asked to be so out of control he had to forcibly separate himself from Thomas, who he wanted nothing more than to be at the side of at all times. Yeah, because that made a whole lot of sense, right?  Man, someone bring in the cap and gowns, Derek Hale was a genius!

“The people that had us did shit to our brains.” Minho huffed darkly, suddenly not so eager to choke his chicken as he had been moments ago. Discussing your traumatic past as a labrat and failed science experiment usually tended to be a bit of a boner kill. “Probably just turned it off or something, man. I don’t know.” The Asian growled uncertainly, not enjoying how glaringly obvious it was that Wicked had more control over his body then he himself or the fact that he was left uncertain as to what all had actually been done to him. There could still be shit in his brain for all he knew, waiting to sabotage him at the worst of moments and take away everything he’d ever loved. Again. (Minho refused to think of that terrifying possibility a moment longer - The thought of losing Thomas just too much to bear and eliciting a warning growl from the protective wolf dispute the apparent fact that there was nothing here for him to growl at - Though he wouldn't mind growling at Derek just for the hell  of it .)

Derek said nothing more after that, leaving Minho feeling a little bit proud at the notion that he’d actually managed to shut the guy up for a moment as the werewolf finally managed to duck back into the safety of his own room. The Keeper immediately took a straight B-line to the bed and threw himself into it so roughly he was legitimately concerned that he may have broken it for a brief moment. Though, honestly, the werewolf doubted he would’ve even convinced himself to care at the moment if he had, too busy burying his face into Thomas’s pillow and inhaling as much of the sweet scent as he possibly could before he’d have to resurface for actual oxygen, a disgusting, distasteful substance in comparison to the wonderful scent of his mate.

 

Minho’s wolf keened unhappily and demandingly informed the Asian that it needed more, urging him to snuggle his nose further into the plush pillow in an attempt to capture just a breath more of his cherished human’s lingering essence until the wolf was all but nuzzling the thing. It still wasn’t enough but it was enough to soothe the werewolf into at least falling into a restless sleep, only comforted by the sweet haze of  _ mate _ and the knowledge that Thomas was safer away from him. 

 

Which is why it was not actually a good thing when, what had to be hours later, it was the return of the familiar thrum of Thomas’s heartbeat re-entering Minho’s stream of conscious that roused the wolf into wakefulness. 


End file.
